


flowers slipping from your hands

by admlynch



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: (adam has like one drink dw), Adam goes to UVA, Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - College/University, Freeform, Joseph Kavinsky is his own warning, M/M, Ronan still has his dream powers, Ronan's hand kink probably, Slow Burn, adam doesn't know about any of the magic shit, desperate tad (TM), idk how to write smut but i tried, pynch- freeform, the gang all lives together in a house and mischief ensues
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-11
Updated: 2018-07-24
Packaged: 2018-09-16 20:53:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 81,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9289211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/admlynch/pseuds/admlynch
Summary: The AU where Adam and Ronan sleep together and Adam wakes up to find Ronan gone.. but there's dream stuff all over his room? and then when Adam moves in with his college friend Gansey a few months later whoops that guy he slept with is now coincidentally his other housemate? ft. trying to hide ronan's dream shit





	1. sung me moonstruck, kissed me quite insane

**Author's Note:**

> this is unbetad and my first time writing smut: go easy on me

_I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed_

_And sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane._

 

\-- mad girl’s love song, sylvia plath

 

Adam Parrish wasn’t really the sort to go to parties. Generally, he thought of them as loud, claustrophobic, and vaguely uncomfortable. With his deaf ear, he always found himself jumping when someone came up behind him in the crowded rooms- music blaring too loud for him to hear anyone’s approach, the scent of alcohol thick in the air like an old ghost. However, _this_ party wasn’t the kind he tried to avoid. It was different-  all warm lighting with indie music in the background, laughter spilling out smiling mouths, a cluster of students around a _Risk_ board at stalemate. Quite frankly, Adam was charmed, though that was to be expected when Richard Campbell Gansey III was involved.

 It was Gansey’s party- Adam knew him through their marketing group, though, Adam had only just been accepted, so the invitation to a _personal_ party was surprising. The team held parties as a way to pitch their companies, although, as college students, they were only marketing non-profit businesses UVA sponsored. (So far, an app supporting endangered animals, habitat for humanity, and a charity gala to support the families of victims of cancer.) Adam had been impressed by Gansey from the moment they met. With his white teeth and brand-new boat shoes, it had been hard _not_ to feel impressed, and the admiration only grew in time (despite Gansey’s habit of derailing conversations to talk about Welsh history.)

 Despite the initial shock of invitation, Adam gladly dropped his plans of a library study-night in favor of the short walk to Gansey’s place. It was a green house with curls of paint peeling off the porch, a few streets over from Beta Bridge. Adam usually would’ve held a fair amount of contempt for anyone who had an entire house to themselves at twenty years old- and a bitter pang of that contempt still remained, but Gansey had briefly mentioned multiple housemates, as well as a girlfriend he referred to as Jane.

 Adam was excited. Adam had not been excited to go to a party since his first one, which ended on a sour note, considering he had to take his overzealous roommate to the hospital for a stomach pump. Needless to say, he didn’t want another experience like that one, and avoided parties whenever possible; until, of course, this one, which was unlike any party he’d been to before.

 There were more people than he’d initially expected, but since they all seemed to trace back to the marketing group somehow, so Adam wasn’t bothered. Different music was playing in almost every room of the first floor- 80’s power ballads and smooth jazz and gratuitous pop, indie and instrumental. Gansey tactfully explained that the only way they’d managed to acquire the expensive drinks Henry Cheng sipped at was through Henry Broadway, whose parents were caterers in town.

 (“ _Apparently they have a garage full of_ _rosé_ _, I’m sure they won’t miss it._ ”)

 It was all a rather pleasing, quiet affair, and he felt so comfortable that he actually accepted the drink Gansey pressed into his hand when he introduced Adam to his girlfriend, standing in the dinky little kitchen.

 “This is Blue.” Gansey said, his arm looped around the shoulder of a shorter, young woman with dark hair, who smiled up at him. She was beautiful in a quirky, fanciful way, and Adam felt a strange pang of wanting when he looked at the two of them together- smiling brightly, clearly in love.

 He smiled back at them, and took a sip of whatever Gansey passed him- which looked and tasted suspiciously just like a coke, but with a flare of warm bitterness in the aftertaste (probably some liquor he’d never tried before.)“- And this is Adam,” Gansey continued. “He’s a member of the marketing team.”

 “Oh,” Blue said, her eyes widening in recognition. “The new, smart one who actually tolerates your welsh king ramblings?” she leveled a slanted gaze at her boyfriend, and nudged him with an elbow. “Good job inviting him.”

 “You put up with them, too.” he reminded her, but Blue just rolled her eyes and made a “pshaw” sound.

 “Nice to meet you, Adam.” she extended a slender hand, and Adam politely took it.

 “You too.” Adam didn’t quite know what to make of her- by the zany outfit and colorful hair clips she didn't look like most UVA students, but who was he to judge? He was a scholarship student- he probably didn’t look like much, either. The three of them talked for a solid half hour, all the while sipping at their drinks, until Gansey joined the game of _Risk_ in the living room, with Blue by his side as a strategic advisor.

 Adam didn’t really mind being left behind in the kitchen- he’d always been more interested in watching than participating when it came to these sorts of things. He was a casual observer to the scenes unfolding around him: Tadd Caruthers and Sarah Stewart were playing go fish and arguing about politics, Rutherford was getting incredibly high while taking to SickSteve about bio engineering, and a young man with a buzzed head was conspicuously looking away from Adam, chewing on a completely wrecked pair of leather wrist bands.

 He wasn’t someone Adam recognized, but he had the sort of look about him that made Adam curious- a pretty kind of dirty face, all hooded eyes and sharp cheekbones, unbelievably attractive. The man looked up- blatantly staring in Adam’s direction, his expression complicated. He eyed Adam up and down, and Adam frowned. Had he spilled food on his shirt or something?

 He put down his drink, and leaned back against the counter for a moment. The stranger was still watching, though Adam couldn’t figure out why. There was no space behind him for the man to be looking at anyone else, but Adam looked around him anyways, despite the kitchen being deserted. As expected, there was no one next to him on either side, and a countertop at his back. His frown deepened. He was starting to feel a little hot, a little itchy under the unwavering gaze of the stranger. He took another sip of his nearly-finished drink, and tried to decide what to do.

  _Maybe,_ Adam thought, _I should just go talk to him._ It was the most logical way to deal with this situation, and he had to be staring for a reason, right? Adam took a deep breath, and crossed the open floor-plan kitchen to the couch on the edge of the living room, where the young man sat, still challenging him with his stare. He sat down, and when he was close enough to see the details of the man’s face, his brain short-circuited on his actual mission- caught up in dark eyelashes and a tattoo creeping out the edge of his shirt.

 “Uh..” Adam frantically tried to remember what he was going to say. “Did I, um, have something on my face?”

 “What?” The man replied.

 “Do I have something on my face.” Adam repeated. “You were staring, so I was assuming I must’ve had something.”

 “Nah,” The man leaned back in his seat, casually crossing his arms across his chest. “You don’t have anything on your face you’re just..”

 He trailed off, and Adam waited for him to continue for a solid minute longer, feeling his ears growing red under the attention of the man before him- who still couldn’t, or wouldn’t, stop looking. “I’m just what?” Adam finally prompted, and the stranger shrugged.

 “You’re just hot.”

 It wasn’t the answer Adam was expecting from the stranger, who was obviously very, _very_ attractive himself. He felt his pulse stutter as his cheeks got hotter, and a sudden tension hung heavy in the air. Adam didn’t know what to say, and he found himself opening his mouth and closing it, like a fish out of water, struggling for words like air.

 “I wasn’t trying to freak you out,” The man said, noticing Adam’s sudden inability to talk. “I was just telling the truth.”

 Adam managed an “Okay.” In response, but couldn’t force himself to tear his gaze away from the man. Now he was the one staring, and he thought that possibly, it was beginning to border on indecent, the way they were looking at each other. The stranger stuck out his hand to Adam.

 “I’m Ronan, by the way.”

 “Adam Parrish.” Adam replied, glad to have something to hold onto, even if it was Ronan’s hand, warmer and larger than his own. He wondered if his hands were sweaty. He hoped not, sweaty hands would probably ruin whatever this was, whatever they were doing. He let go of Ronan’s hand. He gathered his courage.“You’re pretty good looking yourself, you know.”

 Ronan didn’t quite smile, but the corner of his lips turned up like he wanted to, and he just shrugged carelessly, shaking it off and moving onto another topic. “So, was it Cheng who invited you, or Dick III?”

 “I’m in Gansey’s marketing group.” Adam said, grateful for the easy topic. He knew how to talk about school- flirting was an entirely different story.

 “Oh no,” Ronan said, eyes widening in mock surprise. “You’re one of those boys who spends all their time at frat parties or lurking on the corner.”

 “Hey,” Adam defended. “This is the first party I’ve been to all semester. If anything, I lurk in alderman.”

 “Ah,” Ronan said. “That clears your reputation completely.” His voice was teasing, and Adam found himself fighting back a smile, despite his initial nerves surrounding the situation.  

 “What about you? Don’t you fit into some stereotype? Angsty punk-rock art student?”

 “Fuck no,” He snorted. “I study classics.”

 That surprised Adam- with his all black outfit, and shaved head, classics was the last thing he expected Ronan to be studying. He knew a few of the students in the Greek program, but none of them seemed anything like Ronan. They were all self possessed and impeccably fashionable, with somewhat of a superiority streak. That didn’t seem anything like the young man before him, and Adam quirked an eyebrow. “Greek or Latin?”

 “Latin.” Ronan said. “Veni cuba mecum dormiat?”

 Adam wracked his brain for any memory of the Latin class he took in high school but the only word he recognized was dormiat- _sleep._ “What’s that mean?”

 Ronan waved the question off. “Nothing important, really.”

 “Hmm.” Adam said, skeptical, though he didn’t feel like pushing it. “Why classics?”

 “I take it for the language. Not the content.” Ronan said, taking a sip of whatever he was drinking. “It’s interesting sometimes.”

 “Conjugating verbs?” Adam asked. “Latin’s a dead language. It doesn’t exactly have a practical use, unless you’re planning to be a latin professor.”

 “Definitely not planning to be a professor.” Ronan smiled, something about it simultaneously sharp and inviting, shaking his head before turning the subject back to Adam. “What about you, why marketing?

 Adam was about to answer the question- but was interrupted with an enthusiastic: “Hey! Long time no see, Adam!”

 Considering that he’d seen Tad earlier, Adam should’ve expected this turn of events. He’d been sitting facing Ronan, and with his deaf ear, he was nearly oblivious to the party, still progressing behind him. He steeled himself, and tried not to cringe as he turned around.

 “Tad, hey.”

 “What are you doing at this party, man?” Tad was laughing good naturedly, but the question grated on Adam- he could ask the same thing to Tad. He had as much of a right to be here as anyone else.

 “I’m in the marketing group.” He said, trying not to sound as sour as he felt. “With Henry and Gansey.”

 “Ah,” Tad said. “Right. I nearly forgot. Congrats, by the way. On getting accepted.”

 “Thanks.” Adam really wasn’t in the mood to deal with Tad- who had come onto him at almost every occasion they were trapped in the same space together. He didn’t have the heart to tell Tad to get lost, but he had too much pride to politely reciprocate interest.

 Tad said. “Who’s this guy?” gesturing at Ronan, he stage whispered, as if conspiratorial. “Is he bothering you?”

 “ _Tad,_ ” Adam hissed. “God, _no._ ”

 “I mean he’s just sitting there leering at you, man-” It was as if Tad didn’t even know that Ronan was right there. “- like, I just have to check and make sure, that you’re safe, you know.”

 “I’m sure he can take care of himself.” Ronan interrupted, his lips pressed into a tight like, eyebrows arched imperiously. Adam felt like sinking through the couch, down past the floor, straight through the dirt into nothingness. Of course, it was just like Tad to come up and ruin a perfectly potential _something._

 “Oh, sorry,” Tad said. “I’ve been awfully rude, uh, I’m Tad Carruthers, this is Adam Parrish, and you are..?”

 “Ronan.” Ronan gave no further elaboration, and seemed displeased to be giving up even that much information about himself. He said. “I think I’m going to get another drink. You want one?” Ronan stood, placing a casual hand on Adam’s knee to support himself. The brief point of contact was enough to make warmth stir in the pit of his stomach, but Tad interrupted.

 “Adam doesn’t really drink much.”

 “It’s fine.” Adam said, mostly because he didn’t want Tad to be right- even if he’d been telling the truth. “If you got me a cider or something, that would be great.”

 Ronan just nodded, and disappeared into the kitchen, leaving Adam painfully alone with Tad. He wished, bitterly, that his rarely-used cell phone would ring with a miraculous call, saving him from another awkward conversation. It didn’t, so he dug it out of his pocket and pretended to look at the weather, while Tad pressed him for answers about Ronan.

 “So like, who _was_ that guy?” He laughed like he’d said something funny. “He had such weird hair, man, almost bald.”

 “I think it’s a buzz cut.” Adam said, wearily. It was supposed to be 70 degrees on Saturday. He kept scrolling, and resisted the urge to cradle his head in his hands.

 “What were you guys talking about, anyways?”

 “School.” Adam said, because at least _part_ of their conversation had been about school. He did not, and would not, mention the fact that Ronan had called him hot within seconds of meeting him. “Latin.”

 Tad made a face. “Latin’s useless. French is way more applicable.” Of course, Tad was taking French as one of his minor classes.

 Adam just shrugged, and then realized he probably looked sulky, and straightened on the couch, still looking at his phone in a feeble attempt to let Tad know he wasn’t interesting in talking right now.

 “Do you know any French, Adam?”

 Adam wanted to cover his eyes and pretend he couldn’t hear Tad. He said. “No.”

 “That’s a shame,” Tad said, still hovering like a belligerent fly. “It’s really interesting, you should consider taking a class sometime-” and on and on and on. Eventually, Adam stopped paying attention, and started helplessly nodding along, bored out of his skull. A part of him felt guilty for not giving Tad a chance, but another, newer part of him insisted that he didn’t owe Tad anything.

 When Ronan came back, it was a blessing, despite the hard cider he passed Adam. With Tad around, he might actually need something to drink.

 “It’s kind of stuffy in here.” Ronan said by way of greeting, tugging at the neckline of his shirt in a way that Adam found incredibly distracting.

 Tad nodded sagely, and Adam’s brain raced a mile a minute to find some sort of exit in the conversation- before Tad could jump back into conversation.

 “I was thinking of going on a walk, actually.” Adam blurted out, not completely thinking it through. “If you wanted to come with me.” He directed that last part to Ronan, but despite his best efforts, Tad jumped into the conversation, anyways.

 “I’ll come.”

 Adam, yet again, was forced to think on his feet. “- I really wanted to go to Insomnia...”

 Tad grimaced- Adam knew he hated Insomnia Cookies, a hole in the wall on the corner, mostly because they didn’t make gluten free or vegan options. He felt it was discriminatory to their extremely varied customers.

 Ronan cracked a smirky little grin. “Insomnia’s the best, man, their peanut butter cookies are unreal.”

 Tad looked pouty, but simultaneously like he was trying not to be pouty. He said. “On second thought, I might pass.”

 Adam thought to himself _victory._

 

✕

 

Adam thought Ronan had just been picking up on his desperation to get away from Tad, but they really did go get cookies. They sat in the window of the shop, on stools that were vaguely uncomfortable for Adam’s long legs- but must’ve been worse for Ronan. The hum of the fluorescent lights overhead, and the shuffling of workers in the back was a calming contrast to the party.

 “So, Like,” Ronan said, around a mouthful of peanut butter cookie, in a perfect imitation of Tad’s voice. “What was his _deal?”_

 Adam nearly choked on his food, trying to take a sip of milk. The impression was so at odds with Ronan’s general demeanor, that it surprised a laugh out of him.

 Adam was smiling. “Oh, god… he’s just. He’s been like that since I met him.”

 “Damn.” Ronan said. “Does he get subtlety?”

 "Yeah,” Adam sighed. “He’s great in our marketing classes but as soon as he starts talking to me it’s like he forgets that stuff.”

 “Maybe he’s just hoping desperate’ll work for him.”

 Adam shrugged, and took another bite of his cookie. “Thanks for coming with me, though. Coming here by myself- not believable enough for Tad to leave me alone.” Ronan turned so he was better facing Adam, and their knees pressed together in the space between them. A shiver thrilled it’s way down Adam’s spine at the newfound contact. He couldn’t tell if Ronan was flirting, but it was damn near close.

 Ronan said, eyes alight with mirth. “I wasn’t coming for you, man. I just wanted cookies.”

 Adam snorted- actually snorted, and rolled his eyes at the taller man. “Whatever. I’m not hungry anymore.” He passed the remains of his cookie over to Ronan, who looked delighted with this prospect.

 “I actually want to go on a walk, though.” Adam said, and watched as Ronan finished off his snack, and then Adam’s. He cracked a teasing smile.“You know, to work off the cookie.”

 Ronan looked up from his plate- which was actually just stack of napkins. He stared intently at Adam, and then reached over, as if to touch him. Adam almost jerked back, out of instinct, but held still as Ronan brushed a thumb across the corner of his mouth. He said. “You have chocolate on your face.”

 Adam felt his cheeks heating, and quickly wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. “Do I still have some?”

 “Nah,” Ronan shook his head. “I got it.”

 If Adam hadn’t been sure that Ronan was flirting before, he certainly was now. He swallowed, schooling his features to a neutral expression, before releasing a steadying breath. He said. “Do you want to go poke around grounds? Look at the gardens behind the Rotunda?”

 “I don’t have anything better to do.” Ronan shrugged, and so they went.

 (He put his hand on the small of Adam’s back as they exited the cookie shop, and Adam felt like that alone was enough to make his heartbeat stutter. He was reluctant to admit, even to himself, that he was smitten.)They walked, slowly, through the gardens behind the Rotunda and professor accommodations. Technically, they weren’t open at night, but if they were quiet enough it wouldn’t matter.

 As their feet crunched against the gravel pathways, Ronan asked. “Why do they have so much fucking lettuce?”

 Adam shushed him, but took his best guess at the answer. “Because Thomas Jefferson really liked lettuce?”

 “Spinach is way better,” Ronan said. “These gardens are subpar at best- all flowers and no substance.”

 “Are you a garden elitist?” Adam teased. “You prefer spinach gardens to flower gardens?”

 “I grew up on a farm, asshole.” Ronan deliberately bumped his shoulder into Adam’s. “I have standards.”

 “Ah,” Adam said solemnly. “Garden standards. Got it. Do I need to take an intro to botany if I want to impress you?”

 “Yes.” Ronan deadpanned, and this time Adam had to bite his lip to keep himself from smirking. He bent down to look at a rosebush, feigning interest in an attempt to hide his smiling mouth. He hadn’t felt like this in a long while, and as childish as the word sounded, he thought he might have a crush. _A Crush._ Adam thought. He felt like a school boy all over again, flustered and curious and completely moonstruck.

 He said, all casual. “Guess I better start studying, then.”

 Ronan said. “Shouldn’t be too hard,” kicking the back of Adam’s shoe with gentle insistence. “I get the impression you’re a quick learner.”

 Adam replied. “I've been told that’s the case.” He was smiling, and his mouth almost hurt from it. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d smiled this much in one night. Rising from his crouching position and plucking one of the roses, He said. “It’s one of my best qualities.”

 “Mm.” Ronan agreed, reaching out to run his fingers over the fine petals of the flower. His knuckles brushed against Adam’s hand, and again, Adam felt a tiny bolt of electricity in the touch.“Other than your freckles. And your dashing good looks.”

 “You flatter me too much.” Adam said, placing his hand over his heart in a mock swoon. He thought he could feel it racing a thousand miles a minute through the cotton.

 “Not too much.” Ronan replied, a teasing smile twisting at the corner of his mouth. “I think I flatter you an appropriate amount.”

 He didn’t really know what to say to that, though he supposed there wasn’t really much left _to_ say. Ronan was still playing with the rose in his hand, and Adam studied his face in the half light of someone’s windows, filtering in through the trees. It felt so still, so quiet, before suddenly, Adam leaned forward and kissed Ronan- the flower slipping from their hands. It wasn’t chaste or hurried, and for flickering moment, Adam worried if he’d miscalculated Ronan’s intentions, but then he let out a soft sigh into Adam’s mouth, and tangled his fingers through Adam’s hair.

 They kissed, and when they broke apart to breathe, Adam said. “I think you need to flatter yourself more.”

 “That’s up for debate.” Ronan replied, breathless, and kissed Adam again. He let himself get lost in the sensation of Ronan’s lips against his own, the unfamiliar taste of someone else on his tongue. There was a tremor in their kiss, a desperate hunger that left Adam wanting more, left him eager for Ronan’s next touch. It was too much for this place, in the backyard of some professor’s house, even if they were sheltered by the trees and creeping vines of night-blooming flowers.

 He pulled away. “We probably shouldn’t be making out in this garden.”

 “It’s a shitty garden.” Ronan said, leaning forwards to chase after Adam’s lips again. “We’re the best thing that’s ever happened to it.”

 Adam turned his head, avoiding the kiss at the last second, only to have it land at the edge of his jaw, which was no less distracting. He reached for Ronan’s hand, entwining their fingers and effectively drawing his attention away from the attempted kiss. “I know somewhere better.”

 “Yeah?” Ronan asked, punctuating his question with a peck to Adam’s temple, which was easily achieved with their height difference.

 “Mhmm.” Adam hummed. “I’ve got a single and I’m pretty sure my RA’s oblivious to people who aren't straight.”

 Ronan snorted, but said: “That’s probably better than a garden.”

 

✕

 

They made it back to Adam’s room with minimal interruptions, stealing kisses behind doors and staircases as they went, avoiding prying eyes. He didn’t have the forethought to warn Ronan of the state of his room, a slumping pile of books on his desk, a few dirty t-shirts spilling from the edge of his laundry bin. At least he could comfort himself in the fact that his bed was made.

 Adam ducked his head in the entryway. “Sorry about the mess. It’s not normally like this.”

 Ronan just shook his head. “Are you kidding? My room is ten times worse, and it smells like bird shit.”

 “Bird shit?”

 “I have a bird.” Ronan explained, waving a dismissive hand. Then, as if remembering what they had come for, he leaned forward to kiss Adam again, obviously done with conversation. Adam couldn’t really blame him, not with the way heat pooled low in his stomach with each kiss. He felt like someone was taking his thoughts apart one by one, slowly disabling the mechanical logic he worked so hard to retain with nothing but a hot touch. Ronan pulled away for long enough to press an open-mouthed kiss against Adam’s collarbone, where he could feel Ronan’s breath through his t-shirt . Adam gritted his teeth to keep a surprised gasp from escaping, and took his turn as the instigator- kissing Ronan hard and walking him back towards the bed until Ronan’s knee hit the edge of the mattress.

 In between kisses, he asked. “What kind of bird?”

 “Oh my god,” said Ronan, a breathless laugh startled from his handsome mouth. “I can’t believe you’re asking me this right now.”

 Adam ran his hands along Ronan’s sides, to his back, where underneath his shirt, Ronan’s skin was smooth and damp to the touch. “I want to know you.”

 “In the biblical sense?” Teased Ronan, leaning back to sit on the bed. Suddenly Adam was the taller one- and he had to slot himself between Ronan’s knees to get a good angle.

 Adam traced a hand over Ronan’s jawline until he tilted his head back, baring his throat. “You didn't answer my question.”

 “A Raven.” Ronan said, and Adam kissed the underside of his jaw, just to feel Ronan’s breath hitch. “You were distracting me.”

 “Oh, so it’s all my fault.” Adam replied, this time not even trying to hide his grin. He sat down next to Ronan, who shifted back on the bed to give Adam more room.

 “Mhmm.” Ronan cupped the back of Adam’s neck, drawing him into a short kiss. “You’re wrecking my train of thought.”

 They kissed again, and in the midst of tongues and teeth, Adam slid his hands through Ronan’s buzzed hair, dragging his nails across Ronan’s scalp- gently enough that it didn’t hurt, but hard enough to feel good. It elicited a moan from the back of Ronan’s throat- raspy and sweet and muffled into his mouth. Adam only ever wanted to hear that sound again and again. He shifted, sliding his thigh between Ronan’s legs so he was partially straddling the other man. They were pressed together so tightly that he could feel Ronan, half hard, through his jeans. The thought that he was the one doing this, that he was the one beginning to make Ronan come undone, was intensely satisfying.

 He felt a little starved, a little wild, like he wanted to suck bruises into Ronan’s collarbones, or bite the junction where his neck met his shoulder. Instead, he tugged at the hem of Ronan’s shirt- a silent question, until the other man dragged himself away from Adam’s lips for long enough to tug his shirt over his head. Ronan was a beautiful sight, warm and breathing, an entirely living creature- Adam wanted to kiss the hollow of his throat and the valley of his ribcage, wanted to trace the tattoo creeping over his shoulders. He’d almost forgotten about it, by now, after his brief glimpse at the party.

 “How big is your tattoo?” He followed a curling line down Ronan’s shoulder with a fingertip, and Ronan shuddered. In the darkness of the room, the ink was so black he almost expected his fingers to come away wet with ink.

 “It covers my whole back.” Ronan admitted.

 “Can I see it?”

 In response, Ronan squirmed out of Adam’s grip to roll over onto his back, so the full expanse of his tattoo was visible. Adam’s stomach swooped at the sight of it- dark and strange, all the lines and edges tangled together like thorny branches. When he looked he thought he saw claws, or beaks in the black, intricate sprawl of ink. He’d never liked tattoos before, but he’d never seen one like this- wicked and fanciful, savage and lovely.

 Adam bent to kiss the nape of Ronan’s neck, where the soft prickle of his buzzed hair met skin, and then kissed the knob of his spine, causing Ronan to shiver beneath him, a frantic curse falling from his lips like poetry. Adam smiled at that, and pressed another kiss farther down, between his shoulderblades. He still felt strange, and starving, and dizzy with want- so he pressed his teeth against the tattoo before sucking the skin between his teeth. The choked version of Adam’s name that followed was unholy, and turned him liquid-hot. He was aiming to work his way to the center of the tattoo, but before he could get that far, Ronan rolled over, propping himself up on an elbow before hooking an arm around Adam’s waist to pull him closer.  

 “You,” He said, between ragged breaths. “Are a menace.”

 Adam had to bite his lip to keep from smiling. “How so?”

 “Just.. _that_ ,” Ronan said, because Adam had neglected conversation in favor of kissing Ronan’s neck, grazing teeth over sensitive skin. “With your fucking mouth.”

 “Sorry.” Adam mumbled into his skin, though he wasn’t, and continued to kiss Ronan’s neck. He felt Ronan’s hands, fumbling with the edge of his shirt, unsure, so he leaned back for long enough to pull his shirt over his head, discarding it on the floor by his bed. He said “Now we’re even.” And then they kissed again. It was maddening, quickening, all consuming, like a torrential storm slicking rain down a sidewalk- unstoppable. It felt so good that Adam didn’t even care to be embarrassed when Ronan rolled their hips together, making both their erections achingly obvious.

 “ _Ronan_.” Adam said, more a moan than an actual word. He dragged a hand down Ronan’s chest, leaving red marks, and then hooked a finger around the belt loop of his jeans. “God.” Ronan’s hips strained forwards again, and Adam felt the friction of their cocks rubbing together through the denim- hot and delirious as a fever dream. He could barely stand it, and finally went for Ronan’s zipper.

 “Fuck.” Ronan managed, at the feeling of Adam’s hand gripping the obvious bulge in his pants. “Please.”

 Adam didn’t have to be told twice. He shucked Ronan’s jeans down past his thighs, and closed his fingers around the thickness of Ronan through his underwear. The other man let out a strangled gasp at the touch, and placed a hand overtop Adam’s, guiding him to the waistband of his boxers so Adam could take him properly. Adam watched as Ronan’s eyelashes fluttered darkly against his cheekbones, and took Ronan’s cock in his hand, giving an experimental tug.

 Ronan’s reaction was immediate, a frenzied curse tumbling from his mouth, hips stuttering forwards into Adam’s palm. Adam continued pumping the length of Ronan, and leaned forward, pressing his lips to the tip, swirling lazy circles with his tongue. Above him, he heard a muffled keening sound, and looked up to see Ronan steadfastly biting his lip to hold back a moan. He used his free hand to reach up, parting Ronan’s lips with his fingertips to let a breathy groan escape- Adam wanted to hear the effect he had on Ronan.

 To his surprise, Ronan just took it upon himself to press heated kisses against Adam’s fingers, doing little to conceal the sounds he made. The feeling of his fingers in Ronan’s mouth was unfamiliar, but it only stoked the fever in Adam further. He kept going, concentrating on the way Ronan’s breaths turned to gasps, increasing in urgency with each stroke of his hand. Finally, he felt Ronan’s knees buckle beneath him, his back arching with a stifled cry around Adam’s fingers. He came wet and hot into Adam’s hand.

 For a few moments, the room was quiet save for Ronan’s breathing, and Adam leaned down again to press a quick kiss to Ronan’s hip, where his muscles still jumped. He had come on his hand, which probably wasn’t ideal in the moment, so he just retrieved his tee-shirt and wiped his hands on it, before crawling back to bed to kiss Ronan’s swollen lips.

 As he pulled away, Ronan said. “Hey.” Tracing a gentle finger over the curve of Adam’s cheekbone, a strangely tender gesture considering they barely knew each other, considering the act they’d just committed.

 “Hey.” Adam echoed, voice soft as sunrise. The way Ronan looked at him made something small and fragile flutter in the pit of his chest- not below his navel, where heat still stirred, but somewhere softer, gentler. He mimicked Ronan’s movement from before, and pressed his thumb against the other man’s cheekbone. “Sorry for being a- uh, what did you call me again? a menace?”

 Ronan recognized that Adam was teasing, and rolled his eyes. “You fucker.” Adam just shrugged in response.

 “I mean, I was trying.”

 “Roll over.” Ronan said, obviously ready to reciprocate, and though Adam made a big show of not wanting to move, wanting to stay where he was- peppering kisses across Ronan’s face- he complied. He allowed Ronan out from underneath him, switching roles so he was the one being pressed into the mattress.

 Adam said. “This is a turn of events.”

 Ronan didn’t deign that statement with an answer, and instead, kissed Adam fiercely, once on the lips, before continuing down his jaw to his neck. Adam had almost forgotten what it felt like to be touched in this way, had almost forgotten how starving he was. These kinds of touches- they always felt like a myth until they were right in front of him, too solid, too real to be a lie. A pleasured sigh escaped Adam’s mouth when Ronan ran the tip of his tongue over his collarbones, and he was slightly embarrassed to note how heavy his breathing was.

 Ronan didn’t seem to mind, just worked his way down Adam’s chest and heaving stomach, sucking bruises and leaving open-mouthed kisses as he went. For a terrifying moment, Adam remembered the grave of scars littered across his abdomen- and wondered what Ronan would say, but then Ronan gave a purposeful tug at the waistband of his jeans- more to get Adam’s attention than anything else, and the fear was forgotten.

 “You can-” Adam gestured at his pants, short of breath. “If you want.”

 Ronan said. “I want to.” And whispered a kiss across Adam’s navel, before unzipping his jeans and peeling them off Adam’s legs with impressive ease. After that moment, Adam’s brain ceased to function properly- his thoughts reduced to physical sensation. His hands on Ronan’s shoulders, Their ragged breathing, The fever of Ronan’s lips on his thigh, his hip, around the length of him like he was trying to draw something holy out of Adam with his mouth.

 Adam was not a virgin, but this was the first time sex had felt like this- like a fire that surrounded him, like a carnal sort of worship, like it was possibly magic- all this, and with someone who was practically a stranger. He moaned. “ _Fuck_ , Ronan.” Adam didn’t even know Ronan’s last name, and in that moment he didn’t care. He scraped his fingernails through Ronan’s buzzed hair, trying to keep himself together as the pleasure swelled rapidly, like a symphony finally coming to a crescendo.

 He couldn’t last. Adam came, trembling with burnt-out need, into Ronan’s mouth. He didn’t expect Ronan to swallow, and he wouldn’t have asked him to, but Ronan took him without complaint, only wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, after. Adam’s thighs still shook, and his breath hadn’t quite evened out when Ronan crawled up to kiss him again, but he kissed back without restraint, despite the bitter taste of it.

 They kissed for a while longer, lazily, without the urgency of their bodies aching for more. It was tender and sweet and somehow intimate, in the afterglow of sex. Adam hooked an arm around Ronan’s waist just to keep him anchored to the tangled sea of bedsheets, and whispered “Stay.” Into his ear. Ronan did just that, and fell asleep after a few minutes of hushed conversation, face pressed into the crook of Adam’s neck.

 

✕

 When Adam woke, early-morning sun was filtering in through the shades, and his bed was empty. He squinted, sat up, and looked around for any signs that Ronan hadn’t left, that he was somehow coming back, that there was a note for him somewhere. He found no such evidence, because Ronan’s clothing was absent from the floor, and everything seemed just how he left it- aside from the flowers.

 He didn’t know how they got there, but on his desk, were a sea of roses- almost the same color as the ones from the garden last night. There were too many to count, overflowing onto his desk chair and over his schoolwork- more than Ronan could’ve possibly smuggled in without waking Adam. He looked over, behind him, and found more- flowers crammed in the seam between his bed and his mattress, under his pillow case- dewy and fresh, oversaturated in a way that couldn’t possibly be real.

 Adam rubbed his eyes, shut them tightly, waited for the roses to disappear like a bad dream. When he opened them- they were still there, starkly red and vividly strange. He picked one up, and ran his fingers over the petals. They were startling to the touch, too thick and velvety, but nonetheless living. Nothing made sense. It made his head hurt to look at them, to think of them- the flowers were an impossibility. Nothing in nature was that red.

 

✕

 

 The next day, when the flowers hadn’t wilted at all, despite being left without water- Adam shoved them in a trash bag and left them out in the hallway. He tried to do his homework with them in the room, but they proved too much of a distraction. He couldn’t read the assigned text with that flash of red in his peripheral vision, that question gnawing on his brain. It was not like Adam to leave questions unanswered.

 So in the bag they went, stems snapping and petals falling off- they were not impervious to all the laws of nature, it seemed. The thorns kept catching on the plastic of the cheap trash bags Adam bought, but he didn’t care. He shunted them out into the hallway, because the community bins in the common room were full.

 With his headphones in, with his back facing the room, he could almost focus. Adam worked on his homework until his stomach started to growl- until his RA, Isaac, pounded on the door and drawled, loudly, intrusively. He ripped out his headphones to hear, and even then only caught half of the sentence

 “-Got some admirer, Parrish? there’s a bag full of flowers out here.”

 “I’ll take care of it.” The dorm rooms were built with cinder block walls, so he had to yell to be heard. Adam did not want to take care of it. He did not want to look at those strange flowers again but he didn’t have much of a choice. Later, once Isaac had left him alone, once the flowers were sitting in the bottom of a dumpster somewhere, Adam replayed the question in his mind over and over again, tossing and turning as he tried to sleep.

  _Got some admirer, Parrish?_ He didn’t think that was the case. He thought it was much more likely that he had gotten a mystery wrapped in human skin. A mystery, he mused, that he was never going to see again.

  



	2. except to hear your name

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the one where adam moves in and doesn't really meet ronan again until it's Too Late to back out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> all characters belong to maggie stiefvater, chapter title stolen from i get along without you very well by chet baker

 

 

_I've forgotten you just like I should_

 

_Of course I have_  
_Except to hear your name or someone's laugh_  
_That is the same_  
_But I've forgotten you just like I should_

 

\-- i get along very well without you, chet baker

 

 

It was finals week, and as if Adam didn’t have enough on his plate as it was, his advisor reminded him that he’d have to find somewhere else to live in the coming year.

 “It looks like our dorms are going to be full this fall...” She said, sympathetic. “And we can only dedicate so much housing to third year students- what space we had available has already been reserved by…..” she trailed off. “Some better endowed students.” As his advisor- she knew of Adam’s unfortunate financial situation, but couldn't do much to help him.

 Of course, knew it was coming- but the sudden responsibility of having to find an apartment weighed heavily on his conscious. He said, numbly. “I’ll figure something out.”

 “You’re staying in town over the summer, correct?”

 “Yes.” Adam said, with some relief. Last summer, he’d stayed in a tiny little room above one of the Catholic Churches in albemarle county, and spent his months off working at an Auto Body shop. It made him enough money to pay for his text books, and luckily his scholarship covered most of his tuition. It wasn’t comfortable by any means- the floors had been splintery, and his job had bad hours- but it was far better than returning home for the summer. He would make due on his own.

 She said. “I’d recommend asking around with your friends, see if anyone needs a roommate.”

 Adam nodded. “-And a job is never a bad idea.” She added. “But I understand you’re in the marketing group, and I know it takes up a considerable portion of your free time.”

 Adam shrugged, modestly. It was a miracle he managed to keep up with school work and the marketing group. He didn’t tell his student advisor that he already secured a job for the summer, at the same auto body shop he'd worked at the summer before. It felt squirmy and uncomfortable on principle, to explain these things.

 “I’ll look into it.” Adam promised, and his advisor half smiled at him. He felt it twist in his gut, that look of pity on her face.

 “Let me know if you need any help, Mr. Parrish.”

 Adam faked a polite smile, icing his mouth. “Will do.”

 

✕

 In the months that passed since the party, and what Adam had come to think of as the ‘hot guy and impossible flowers incident’- he had grown much closer to Gansey. They shared most of their classes, and last semester Adam had been too insecure in his relations with Gansey to even attempt to sit with him. Before they started talking, he seemed too far away, on an entirely different plane of existence from Adam. Now, however, things were drastically different.

 He’d quickly come to think of Gansey as his best friend- and with late nights spent in the library, arguing over the merits of various marketing tactics, and Welsh history (Gansey always seemed to gravitate towards that section of the stacks, even if they started in Asian literature), it seemed the feeling was mutual. They spent endless hours in the booths at Christian's Pizza, Adam working studiously on editing his in-class notes, Gansey examining his glendower journal, Blue cutting pictures out of magazines and gluing them into her smashbook, Henry interrupting by talking all of them into sneaking into concerts at the jefferson.

 “So,” Gansey said, walking out of the library and stifling a yawn with his hand. “Your advisor just wants you to ask around? At an institution like this, I’d expect better.” He shook his head, tiredly. “With the amount of money people pay for this school, they should at least be able to house their own students.”

 Adam did not say ‘ _I’m not really paying for it_.’ He did not mention his scholarship, or how generous it truly was. He hadn’t found the right time to explain his situation to Gansey, to anyone at the school- though he was sure they could all see right through him- down to the dried grass and powdery dirt he was born from.  Adam just shrugged. “Do you know anyone looking for a roommate?” He added, quickly. “Other than Tad.”

 Gansey stifled a laugh into his arm, feigning a second yawn- oblivious as he was to the relationships of those around him, Tad’s advances were too obvious to be ignored by anyone. Even their faculty supervisor had frowned when Tad approached Adam at their most recent event, and quickly asked Adam to help him set up a folding picnic table that they didn’t even end up using.

 Gansey said. “Well..” and then paused, stroking his thumb across his bottom lip, deep in thought as they walked. Adam found it impressive that he could be thinking this hard even after their study session. He felt fried- out of sorts and fatigued from all the crammed in hours at work, all the frantic note-reading between exams. He couldn’t wait to get back to his dorm and fall asleep. He couldn’t dwell on the fact that that certain luxury would be gone in a few weeks.

 Adam yawned. Gansey continued to stroke his bottom lip. A car screamed past them on University avenue, but neither of them payed it any mind- at ten o’clock on a thursday night, during exam week- people were bound to blow off their stress in odd ways. Gansey said. “Do you want to go to cookout?”

 Adam’s spirits lightened incrementally. Cookout was the special kind of greasy that most of the time, disgusted him, but on a night like this- heavy with worries and responsibilities and thick Virginia humidity- sounded appealing. He said: “Only if you drive.” Which was half a joke because Gansey knew Adam did not own a car, and half funny because he was obviously too tired to drive even if he’d had a vehicle at his disposal.

 Gansey replied good naturedly. “I’ll drive if you eat the pickles off my burger.”

 “Deal.”

 ✕

Cookout was brightly light in contrast to the black night beyond them, and looking out the windows of Gansey’s orange camaro as they pulled into the parking lot, it seemed the darkness was pressing in from outside. It gave Adam a shivery feeling of being watched, but he ignored it, opting for climbing out of the car and shutting the door behind him, before following Gansey into the restaurant with an apprehensive stride.  

 He’d forgotten how strange it was here, late at night- filled with a similar assortment of people that he would find in the town he’d grown up in. It was not made for young men like Gansey, with polo shirts and ironed khakis. It was not made for young men at all. It was made for boys- more like Adam- more like Adam of the past, with ratty tee-shirts and dirt crusted under their nails and a will to escape for awhile, even if it meant a terrible consequence later. It wearied him. It made him feel as if he was as far from home as he could ever get, and at once, like he was right back where he’d started.

 Adam dug around in his pockets for a crumpled five dollar bill, and passed it over to Gansey. “I’m gonna find us a place to sit.” Cookout was strangely crowded, but he supposed that was what happened when there were such meager options for late night food.

 Gansey frowned at the money, but knew better to push Adam on it, and accepted the bill without argument. Adam had not explained the scholarship, but it wasn’t hard to pick up on his frugality. “You want a cheeseburger, right?

 “And a Coke.” Adam said, gesturing at the money now in Gansey’s tanned hands. “if what I gave you can cover it.”

 Gansey waved Adam’s concern away. “I’m sure it’ll be enough. Go sit down, won’t you?”

 Adam went to sit down. The booth he chose was slightly greasy, despite just having been cleaned, but at Cookout everything was greasy so he had no right to complain. He took a napkin from the plastic dispenser, and wiped his hands on it. Maybe cookout had been a bad idea- he was so tired, and the accent of the woman in the booth behind him was so familiar it made him flinch. He waited a few minutes, pretending to read on his phone while distantly recalling a nightmarish scene from home, until Gansey arrived at the table. He carried two foil-wrapped burgers and a basket full of fries, startling Adam out of his thoughts. When he saw the food, his stomach growled. The one thing Cookout had not managed to deprive of Adam was his appetite.

 “Thanks.” Adam said. He reached, gratefully, for one of the burgers. Gansey slid into the booth across from him, setting down a tall coke and passing it over to Adam.

 “Not a problem.” Gansey smiled- it was his tired smile, the kind that felt hazy and real, far from the smile he pasted on for fund raisers and marketing events. Adam liked this version of him the best- Gansey the boy, instead of Gansey the man. He watched as Gansey meticulously picked the pickles off his burger before placing them on a napkin, and then sliding them across the table to Adam.

 Adam took one and ate it. Gansey looked the same way he did when he was about to ask Adam about Welsh Kings, so Adam just ate another pickle so he wouldn’t have to talk. Generally, he enjoyed these conversations, but currently- Adam was exhausted. Any minute now, the Glendower lecture was coming. Gansey said: “I think we’re looking for roommates at my house.”

 He almost spit out his pickle, but instead managed a cough and a “What?”

 “Well,” Gansey said. “There’s an empty room- I apologize in advance, the ceiling is a little slanted- but I thought the offer might interest you. I know I might be overstepping here, but I texted Jane while we were in line. She quite likes you, Adam, and you know Henry and I, so I thought it might be beneficial for you to-” He kept rambling and Adam just gaped, trying to register what his friend was saying. “-And we have the space and I certainly wouldn’t object with your joining our household, as long as you’re comfortable with it-”

 Adam said: “Gansey.” And his friend stopped talking, instead opting to play with the wrapper of Adam’s straw. Adam didn’t know what to make of this offer, though it fixed his biggest problem in one simple decision. He was a creature of logic, and at this current moment, the logical side of him was screaming to say yes, yes, _yes._ The prideful part of him, however, was shirking the offer. He knew, presently, that if he kept up with that way of thinking, his pride would be what ruined him.

 And hadn’t he made it far enough? Hadn’t he escaped the trailer park, hadn’t he run to the other side of the state? Hadn’t he gotten into an Ivy League school, too? Yale had accepted him but their scholarship wasn’t enough, and Adam knew UVA was generous when it came to in state scholarships. He knew there was a chance he could get a full ride- or at least something close to it. What he ended up with, despite the impossible housing situation, was not a disappointment in the slightest. It was a dream.

 He said. “Have you consulted Henry on this?” It was not a yes, but it was the suggestion that Adam was, in fact, considering the offer.

 Gansey deflated, visibly relieved that Adam was entertaining the idea of it. He said: “Even before you told me you needed a place to stay, Henry liked the idea. He brought it up once, while we were working on homework.” Gansey smiled. “He says you have the best ideas, out of the three of us. And the rest of us live together, anyways. Why not include you?”

 Adam felt a surge of warm pride in his chest at that, but restrained his grin with a nonchalant: “What did Blue have to say about that?”

 “That you have the best ideas?”

 Adam nodded, and Gansey let out a small laugh. “Blue told me that if she’d been ranked with the rest of us, or she would’ve blown us out of the water.”

 Adam could agree with that on some level- Blue Sargent was certainly more creative than any of the boys, and probably more creative than all of them combined- although Henry, if he was drunk enough, could give her a run for her money.

 He said. “We should let her run one of the marketing parties.”

 Gansey’s face blanched. “Christ, Adam, I love her- but there would be fairly harvested feathers pasted to the walls as decoration.”

This was, of course, exactly the reaction he was trying to elicit from Gansey, and Adam laughed. “I was kidding- unless she wants to, but I think we could get in trouble for that.”

 “She isn’t in the marketing group,” Gansey agreed. “But she was quite helpful when we designed those pamphlets last month.”

 Blue was an art major- which was unsurprising with her personality, and fairly impressive. She could draw anything you put in front of her, and somehow it would come out looking whimsical and strange, while still resembling the original subject matter. Adam wished he had that level of skill, to see something and make it in his own image. He respected her deeply for it, and admired it intensely. He even had brief moments where he wondered what it would be like to do something because you loved it, not because it seemed like the clearest path to success.

 Adam said. “I want to think about it.”

 They had gotten off topic so Gansey gave him a quizzical look. “Think about what?”

 “Moving in with you.” Adam took a bite of his burger, forgotten on the table- an avoidance tactic so he wouldn’t have to say anything else for at least fifteen seconds. So he could process his thoughts before saying them aloud. “I want to think about it for the fall.”

 “And the summer?”

 “I’ll figure it out.” Adam said- it was what he’d told his student advisor, after all. It felt enough like overstepping to say he would think about the fall- saying he’d stay over break felt even more impolite.

 Gansey frowned, his eyebrows beginning to draw together in concern. “Adam, I don’t-”

 “Gansey.” Adam interrupted- firmly. This was the closest they got to fighting- a younger Adam might’ve let it escalate further, but he was old enough to know how to shut someone down. Old enough to leave if someone wouldn’t listen. “I said I’ll think about it for the fall, I really will.”

 His friend opened his mouth like he wanted to argue, but Adam took another one of the pickles off the napkin between them and ate it, ending the conversation with a casual gesture. It said what he was too polite to say out loud- _I’m not talking about this anymore_. Gansey let out a sigh, and picked at his food for a few more minutes in an uncomfortable quiet. Adam didn’t like the way that silence felt- strung taut as violin strings.

 He said, quietly. “You know I’m gonna say yes, right?”

 Gansey looked up from where his eyes were trained on the table, a sudden spark of light in his hazel eyes. If Adam had known it would be so easy to make his friend happy, he would’ve said yes immediately. Gansey said. “I thought you might not want to.”

 Adam found that almost preposterous- of course he wanted to live with his best friends, of course he wanted something like a home, it was just a question of his pride allowing it. At seventeen he would’ve said no on principle, but now, three years later it was a much smaller battle. With the look on his friend’s face- it was already lost. He said, “Just how slanted is this ceiling, anyways?”

 Gansey smiled.

 ✕

 It turned out that the ceiling was very slanted. Adam had to duck his head to get under the doorway, and in one corner of the room, he could feel his hair brushing against the plaster canopy. He liked it, though- the floorboards were painted a faded blue, cracked and ridged over time, with white walls and a long, rectangular skylight in the ceiling. It looked like the only new addition to the room.

 Blue leaned in the doorway, short enough that she didn’t have to duck, and Gansey hovered anxiously behind her. Henry was somewhere downstairs- you could hear by the tell-tale sign of muffled Madonna through the walls. Adam was officially moving in, despite the fact that he hadn’t met two out of the five roommates. He trusted Gansey’s judgment, and he’d heard enough about Noah that he was actually excited to meet him. He’d heard almost nothing about the last roommate, aside from the fact that they were a boy, and it was probably best not to tell him Adam was moving in until the last minute. He didn’t even know fifth-roommate’s name.

 Blue said, “Thoughts? Opinions?”

 “If you don’t like it, we can figure something else out.” Gansey added, hurriedly- and then, to Blue, in a hushed whisper. “It’s not like n-” his voice became unintelligible. “ _needs_ his room..”

 She elbowed him without force, and hissed something that Adam couldn’t catch “-just because he- doesn’t mean we can kick him out.”

 Gansey pouted, although, he was too dignified for it to truly be called a pout. “I’m not saying that we were going to kick him out!”

 Adam interrupted their squabble with a “Guys.” They stopped whispering to each other, looking over at  Adam as he assured them. “I like it.”

 Gansey clasped his hands together in a strangely old-mannish gesture, and said. “Marvelous!”

 “I just have to get my stuff out of the car,” Adam replied. “Then I think we’re set.” Over the summer, Adam had acquired a few things. The first was a slightly rusty sedan of unidentifiable make or brand, the second a cluster of darkened freckles on the bridge of his nose. (From the hours he spent working in the parking lot of the autobody shop), and the third, his meager savings from his summer job. The three short months had passed relatively quickly, and without a hiccup. He’d stayed at the church he’d lived in the summer before, and apparently he’d left such a good impression that the church ladies decided to lower the rent on his room.

 Adam was immensely grateful for that- it meant he was able to afford new textbooks this fall instead of used ones. It made it that much easier to save up and buy a car- old and battered, though it was. He didn’t really mind- a car was a car. He was excited to be moving somewhere else though, somewhere with air conditioning and a kitchen. Adam would be making full use of both of those new features.

 Gansey said. “I can help you, if you’d like. I know the stairs can be a bother.”

 Adam didn’t really think it was a bother, and he didn’t want to hinder Gansey any more than he already had- but he knew his friend didn’t consider tasks like this an inconvenience. Gansey liked to help people. He shrugged. “I don’t have much, but you can carry my textbooks.”

 Gansey beamed. Adam ducked through the doorway, past Blue and towards the stairs. It was hard to believe he’d only been to Gansey’s house once before, at that party months and months ago… Adam suddenly thought of Ronan again, his consciousness curling around the edge of a memory before jerking back. It was a miracle he even remembered his name, let alone a series of vivid images of what they’d done. Adam tried not to sigh, tried not to replay any of those specific memories like a record stuck on repeat, and headed downstairs.

 With Gansey helping, it only took two trips to carry all of Adam’s things upstairs, even in their disordered state. He had only his clothes, his school supplies, his text books, and a very, very used laptop- leaving his brand new room looking barren and lonely. Blue was still leaning on the door frame, even when they’d gotten inside- and observed Adam’s nearly empty room with mild interest.

 She said. “You need some furniture.” She was correct, of course. Adam didn’t even have a mattress, but the idea of spending money on the move made his stomach curdle. Where did you even buy a mattress in Charlottesville, anyways? “We could go to circa.” She suggested. “everything in my room came from there- it’s all old antique stuff. Inexpensive, too.”

 “That’s…” Adam sighed. He didn’t want to need furniture. He didn’t want to need anything. But realistically, he couldn’t just sleep on the floor all year. He finished his sentence, “that’s probably a good idea.”

 Blue smiled slyly, clasping her hands together the same way Gansey had a few minutes earlier. “You know, I’m a great decorator.”

 Adam thought: _Oh God._ He’d seen pictures of her childhood bedroom, proudly displayed from an iphone screen because Gansey thought they were interesting when he’d gone to visit her family. He didn’t think he needed any paper trees on his walls.

 Gansey perked up. “We should invite Henry!”

 ✕

 

 Adam didn’t have the heart to tell his friends he’d prefer to shop alone, that it made him anxious to do this with all of them. He felt strangely insecure- especially with Henry and Gansey there. He wasn’t looking based off of appearances the way they were- he was crouching down, looking for prices and frowning at most of the things he found. Adam wondered if he could get away with using a milk crate as a bedside table.

 The shop was cluttered and whimsical- which was probably why Blue suggested it. Stacks of tea cups and silverware sets teetered on high shelves, boxes the size of thumbnails rested on top of old, scratched dressers. The radio played, fuzzily, from somewhere in the front of the store. Henry and Gansey were looking through the antique section, and Adam was poking around through used ikea furniture. He was having the having the most luck there- finding a desk that wasn’t too pricey, but still seemed like it would hold up for a while longer.

 He examined it for any potential faults, and tested it for wobbling by pushing at the sides. It wouldn’t budge. Satisfied, Adam kept looking at it. It wasn’t as if he had a cart he could just put a desk in, and he supposed he should find a mattress before anything else, but-

 “Adam! Look, they have a typewriter!” He turned to see Gansey, jovial and excited, gesturing for Adam to come with him. “Would you believe it? This place is is treasure trove!”

 They did, in fact, have a typewriter. Henry hovered over it, and tapped out something on the tiny little keys. There was no paper, but it seemed that wouldn’t stop him from experimenting with the machine. He said: “Do you think we could type all our marketing reports on this?”

 Adam snorted- it was a terrible, if creative idea. “You’d have to rewrite the entire thing every time you made a typo.”

 “Ah yes,” Henry said, agreeably. “Adam Parrish to the logical rescue- you’re right, but you have to admit, it’s quite charming.”

 “Quite.” Gansey agreed- of course, biased by the natural aesthetic of the object. Adam shrugged. He could understand the appeal in an abstract sort of way, but the more he thought of it the more he dwelled on the fact that typewriters were an obsolete technology.

 “What else do they have around here?” Henry asked, the steady _clk clk clk_ of the typewriter stopping suddenly.

 “I think I saw a phonograph.” Adam supplied helpfully, and Gansey’s expression brightened even more, if that was somehow possible.

 “Richard Man!” Henry grinned. “Weren’t you saying you wanted a record player?”

 Gansey hesitated. “Yes but..”

 “No.” Henry said, dramatically cutting Gansey off, pointing a shushing finger in his face. “No buts.”

 “Henry, I’m not sure a phonograph is the same thing as-”

 Henry said, diplomatically. “We should at least _look_ at it.”

Gansey could find no argument with that, and despite the fact that Adam had given no indication on where the phonograph was, Henry looped an arm around Gansey’s shoulder and pulled him even deeper into the bowels of the shop. Sometimes, Adam wondered what sort of trouble Henry and Gansey got up to together, but then thought that it probably wasn’t even trouble at all. Just mild, eccentric mischief- like the toga party, or the time they tried to run a food truck as a fundraiser, or now, playing with a typewriter in the store. They worked well together- and Blue fit easily into that dynamic as well.

 Adam found her looking at various jars and cups and vases in a room full of such things, squinting and tilting her head to the side to get a better angle. He didn’t understand why they had an entire room for cups- but Blue seemed entirely engrossed in her examination of the vessels, so he coughed to get her attention. She jumped, barely, and then gave a small, exasperated smile when she saw it was Adam.

 “Thought you were one of the little old ladies.” She said. “What’s up?”

 Adam replied. “I found a desk, but I still need a mattress.”

 Blue pursed her lips, still staring at the assorted bottles, and adjusted her tunic. She often wore interesting or strange clothing, but today it was milder- just a pair of acid-washed jeans and a crop top, with a sheer tunic of some gauzy material draped over her arms and waist. It was ripped at the hem, as if she had attacked it with a weed whacker. Adam said nothing- tempted to sit down on a vintage chair, but afraid it would fall under his weight. It looked too rickety to be safe.

 Blue said. “I think there are are some in the back but…” She trailed off, picking up a jar to turn it over in her slender hands.

 Adam said. “What are you planning for that?”

 “Ah nothing,” Blue replied, setting the jar down and waving a hand. “I just need some more still life props.”

 Adam picked up a vintage coke bottle, resting on one of the tall shelves at eye level, and passed it over to Blue- who appraised it with clever eyes. Again, she twisted it around in her hands, like she was looking for faults in the glassware. Adam leaned against the only corner _not_ populated by jars, and felt some small amount of pride when Blue put the bottle in a flimsy metal basket, assumedly provided by the store.

 She said, smiling. “Good eye.”

 Adam shrugged. “I can never find what I actually need, but I’m glad I could help you.”

 Blue leaned over to knock her fist into Adam’s shoulder, gently and slowly enough that he didn’t flinch. She didn’t know about his past, but somehow the gesture comforted him all the same. Blue told him. “I’m sure we’ll find you a mattress somewhere.”  

 Adam joked. “Just incase- I hear the couch is pretty comfy.”

 “Come on,” Blue said, hooking her free arm (the one not occupied by the basket) through his elbow. “Let’s go find the boys before they break something.”

 ✕

 They found Henry and Gansey somewhere near the back of the shop, coincidentally, next to a stack of discarded mattresses that looked worse for the wear than Adam would’ve hoped. They were better than nothing, though, and he spent at least another half hour deciding which one looked the most comfortable and the least damaged. By the time they all left, the store was short of one desk, one mattress, three different bottles, and a typewriter.

 (Gansey had talked Henry out of the phonograph.)

 It took a considerable amount of effort to fit the mattress in his car, and it ended up blocking his view through the back window, but it was only a twenty minute drive to Gansey’s house. (Which Adam had to remind himself, was now technically, partially his house.) Blue insisted on celebratory donuts for their accomplishments, but Adam had a suspicion that she’d suggested it because she saw Gansey watching the donut shop with yearning puppy eyes.

 It didn’t matter. Adam wasn’t about to complain about free donuts- he was too tired from the move and the shopping to really care who payed for them, or what it meant for him to accept the one Blue passed into his hands. It was still warm from the oven, dusted with cinnamon and sugar, the sweetest thing he’d eaten in at least a month. He liked it. He liked the shop, too, even though it was much smaller than Circa. The only sour point was the lack of seating- he couldn’t slump down into a chair like he would’ve liked to. All the tables were occupied by more elderly patrons, who seemed vaguely inconvenienced by the group of young adults looming by the door, devouring donuts like crows to carrion. You couldn’t really blame them- they _were_ college students.

 Soon after they finished their box of donuts, (mercilessly, only a dozen, or they all would’ve felt quite guilty. Three per person was enough.) They drove back to the house- Henry and Blue in Gansey’s car, and Adam by himself. He was alone- but he didn’t feel lonely. Just exhausted. Out of sorts after a long day.

 They repeated their process from earlier, carrying Adam’s things upstairs. Henry went off into his room to work on homework, or play with the typewriter, or both- and Adam was left with Blue and Gansey.

 “It wasn’t a good idea for you to carry that.” Gansey said, eyeing the desk that Adam had half-pushed half carried up the stairs. He would’ve agreed, but he’d managed it in some feat of strength. “You could probably pull a muscle on that.”

 “Probably,” Adam replied, flopping down on his new mattress- lacking sheets and pillows. “But I didn’t.”

 Blue rolled her eyes. “How masculine, risking your health to prove your strength.” She flexed her arms, teasing, and Gansey pinched her bicep unexpectedly, causing her to jump and elbow her boyfriend. Gansey laughed, not unkindly.

 “Sorry,” He said. “I had to- but your muscles are quite impressive.” Blue rolled her eyes again, and halfheartedly jostled him, only to allow Gansey to put his arm around her waist a moment later.

 It was a familiar and comfortable routine to them, one that Adam wasn’t used to. He’d seen couples before, of course- his parents, his peers in high school, other students- but he’d never seen anyone act like Blue and Gansey. They fit so well, almost intrinsic, completely at ease together. He wondered if all couples were supposed to be like this, if somehow he’d missed the memo with all his previous experiences.

 He’d dated in high school, but only casually.  A couple movie dates, a few chaste kisses, a handful of experiments to figure out if he was actually, definitely, really into boys- which, it turned out, he was. It had been terrifying at the time, but only marginally, because he was also into girls, and he figured if he payed more attention to that, then maybe the boys thing would go away. (It didn’t.) Somehow though, when he got to college, it didn’t seem to matter as much. People didn’t really care who kissed who or who slept with who- and his father wasn’t looming over his head like the shadow he couldn’t shake.

 In Adam’s freshman year, he hooked up with more guys than girls, and came to terms with the fact that he was bi. He’d struggled more with it when he was still living at home- where it was something bad in the eyes of the community, something wrong. Once he was outside of that environment, accepting himself, at least _that_ part of himself, came easily. He hadn’t really come out to Blue and Gansey and Henry yet, mostly because it hadn’t come up, but he was sure they would be fine with it. That wasn’t the problem.

 He was still working on the problem- Accepting the rest of himself was the problem.

 Adam sighed, and sat up when he heard the front door slam open, loud as a gunshot. He said, tiredly. “What was that?”

 Blue, who was still standing next to Gansey, turned to peer down the hallway. “Probably not Noah.” Her eyebrows creased together, just barely, and she shot a meaningful look up at her boyfriend, who was looking at Adam’s walls with a pensive expression on his face, as if he was pondering what would look nice on them. She had to cough to get his attention. He looked down, and Blue jerked her head towards the door. Gansey’s mouth made a surprised little ‘o’

 He said. “I thought he wasn’t coming back until tomorrow.”

 “Well,” Blue rolled her eyes. “Apparently he’s back now.”

 Adam heard someone coming up the stairs with thick, heavy footfalls.

 “Sargent!” A voice echoed down the halls. “Why’s there a rusty shitbox in front of the house?” Adam assumed his car was the rusty shitbox in question- and watched as Blue rolled her eyes again, and mimed gagging. Gansey gave her a slightly reproachful frown, and moved from his position at Blue’s side to give Adam a pat on the shoulder.

 He said, conspiratorially. “I’m sorry about him.”

 Adam waved it off. He wasn’t sure who Gansey was referring to- Probably whoever it was in the hallway.  “It’s no problem.” He was used to these sorts of things, after all- where he’d grown up he heard the nickname ‘trailer trash’ almost as much as he heard ‘worthless.’  

 Gansey grimaced. “Well, you see, it’s not that simple-”

 Blue interrupted by yelling at the person in the hallway. “Company, Lynch, we’ve got company! Stop being an ass- Not everyone can afford fancy russian cars!”

 “German, Maggot.” the Hallway Offender corrected, and rounded the corner until he, too, was squished in the doorway of Adam’s new room. He was too tall for it, tall enough that he had to duck- so Adam had more of a view of the shaved head and the edges of a tattoo that disappeared his shirt than the man’s actual face. Adam recognized him, despite his exhaustion.

 It was Ronan- who remained just as handsome, just as savagely lovely- but something about him was off. Darker- haggard and weary. His clothes were wrinkled like he’d slept in them, and there was a scar through his eyebrow that hadn’t been there the last time Adam saw him. _The last time Adam saw him._ He felt his face flushing.

 It was as if the breath had been knocked from Adam’s lungs, and he opened his mouth to say something, but an ineffectual choking noise was all that came out. Gansey frowned at this, and gave Adam a pat on the back, lightly at first, and then harder when Adam still couldn’t find his breath. _Am I seeing things?_ Adam thought. _Am I that tired?_

 Gansey asked. “Are you alright?” Adam let out a strangled cough, which was not a response, but was enough that he stopped patting Adam’s back. Adam coughed again, but this time he sounded less like a dying cat- which he was grateful for. Ronan finally looked at Adam- something like surprise, or guilt, or concern flickering in his expression, before it disappeared, and he cocked an eyebrow.

 Ronan said, looking at Blue: “This was his idea, wasn’t it?”

 Adam couldn’t tell who Ronan was referring too, and he couldn’t stop staring. At first glance, Ronan didn’t seem any different- but upon closer inspection, Adam could tell something had changed. In was in the way he carried himself, the way he crossed his arms across his chest like at once, he was protecting himself and telling others- _keep away_ . Objectively, he knew Ronan had a life and that people changed- but he hadn’t ever expected to see Ronan again. He never expected him to be any different, even if they did see each other. He never expected _this_.

 Gansey said. “Technically, Henry brought it up first.” Ronan narrowed his eyes, and gave Gansey a look so poisonous that he added, “But I asked him to move in with us.”

 “You didn’t even tell me.” Ronan said- still giving Gansey that look that made Adam think that whoever he’d met last year, this wasn’t the same person. He wondered, distantly, if something had happened to Ronan or if he’d just been a truly awful judge of character.

 “It wasn’t your decision.” Gansey was using his presidential voice, the one that cut out all room for argument and left you feeling inadequate. Ronan seemed to like that voice about as much as Adam did, and looked away from Gansey, angrily bringing his wrist up to his mouth just to chew on a pair of gnarled, leather wrist bands.

 Blue said. “Come on, dude, that’s gross.”

 “Whatever, Sargent.” Ronan snarled back, and leaned even further on the doorframe. His head almost touched the ceiling- it was the shortest part of the room. He looked at Adam again, and asked. “What are you doing here?”

 It was the first piece of Ronan’s attention truly directed towards him, and Adam felt himself withering under it. There was no way to acknowledge what had passed between them when Blue and Gansey were in the room, but for some reason, a small part of him felt stung by Ronan’s casual indifference. He said. “I _live_ here.”

 “Yeah,” Ronan said. “Me too- doesn’t answer the question.”

 “God, Ronan,” Blue interrupted, pinching him in the shoulder so he’d shut up. “You just met the guy, leave him alone.” To Adam, she added. “I’m sorry you have to share a bathroom with this heathen.”

 “Hey!” Ronan said. “If anyone’s a heathen it’s you- get out of here with all your sage burning and tarot cards. No one asked for a witch.”

 “I’m not a witch,” Blue protested. “And I’m not even a psychic, you asshole.”

 “Right,” Ronan snarked back. “That’s your moms.”

 Gansey interrupted the squabble, that seemed to be based more on familiarity than anything else, and said. “Ronan, we appreciate your input, but Adam’s moving in and that’s final.” Adam was still reeling at the fact that Blue said he had to share a bathroom with Ronan, of all people, but he nodded along and tried to look confident about it.

Ronan scoffed out a “Whatever.” and stalked out of the room without saying goodbye.

 Adam felt his absence like a weight off his chest, and sighed. Gansey closed his eyes, and pinched the bridge of his nose for a moment before apologizing- even though Adam was well aware that it wasn’t his fault.

 “I’m so sorry about that, I didn’t think he was coming home today.”

 Adam said, voice clipped and weary. “It’s fine.” It probably would be- he’d lived through high school with his father around. In comparison, this was like tripping on the sidewalk, or scraping his knee. Surprising and bearable, though Ronan’s detachment hurt, unexpectedly. It was clear that he regretted what they’d done, by the way he acted, but Adam refused to. He had enough to worry about without agonizing over one night stands.

 Blue frowned. “It’s not fine. Just because his mom died, it doesn’t mean he gets to take it out on us.” Sluggishly, Adam’s mind registered what she said- he didn’t know what it was like to lose family. He didn’t think he loved his family enough that a death would feel like loss. He looked to Gansey, who coughed pointedly, until Blue said. “What? You were about to tell him before Ronan got here, anyways.”

 Gansey said. “I think I would’ve put it a little more delicately.” To Adam, he elaborated on Blue’s statement. “Ronan had a recent death in the family, over the summer, so he’s been more volatile than usual.” He put a hand on Adam’s shoulder. “But I’m sure he’ll come around.”

 Adam certainly hoped Gansey was right, because if Ronan was going to act like this around Adam the entire time they lived together, he suspected it would make things uncomfortable. He was too tired to care. He could survive uncomfortable- he could survive worse. He’d done it before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay... so.. i know i took a while to update but a.) this fic was sort of just a random idea and i still haven't come up with a complete plot yet?? sorry? i definitely wanted to have ronan dealing with grief for his mom mostly bc i haven't read enough fics about it so just... sneaking it into my AU whoops.. and b.) it's that seasonal depression time of year.. so like, that's casually kicking my ass. anyways, 
> 
> i'm saying there might be a fair gap between updates, because i'm trying for long-ish chapters. i hope you guys like this though!! i tried my best.
> 
> i enjoyed writing the gangsey dynamics, and the adam + gansey dynamics (which?? accidentally adansey undertones?) what part did you guys like the best?


	3. the sweetest of words have the bitterest taste

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the one where you meet noah, and ronan internally rambles/panics about adam for 3000 words. p.s: unbetad and not rlly cleaned up/edited bc i wanted to get the chapter posted tonight. sorry for any typos! love you guys.

_There is love in your body but you can't get it out_  
_It gets stuck in your head, won't come out of your mouth_  
_Sticks to your tongue and shows on your face_  
_That the sweetest of words have the bitterest taste_

\-- the hardest of hearts, florence + the machine

 Adam woke up in the middle of the night- after chinese takeout with Blue and Gansey and Henry (Ronan preferring to hole up in his room, Noah missing- apparently not a cause for concern.) And more shopping- this time after dark, at target- sheets and pillows and basic necessities- he’d fallen asleep almost immediately after, only to wake up a few hours later feeling just as tired, and a bit like he’d swallowed sand. Groggily, he propped himself up on an elbow and fumbled for his second-hand phone in the dark. He reached for it, and the screen lit up bright white, proudly declaring the hour- half past three in the morning. Adam groaned, burying his face in the pillow. His mouth felt like a desert.

 He stumbled out of bed without much care for his appearance, only wishing for a glass of water, and then to go back to sleep. He found the kitchen with little difficulty, but finding the light switch was harder. He spent a few minutes blindly groping for it in the dark, until his eyes adjusted, and he finally found the switch next to the fridge.

 The lights were obnoxiously bright on his eyes, and he had to squint, digging through the kitchen cabinets to find the cups. It had been so dark that Adam hadn’t noticed the bird perched on the back of the couch- despite the fact that it was in plain view. He turned, finally and dropped his cup when he saw the it, large and black and entirely unexpected- water and plastic clattered loudly to the tiled floor.

 The crow- at least Adam thought it was a crow, maybe it was too big- croaked at him, and hopped from one foot to the other, shuffling down the length of the couch. Adam didn’t particularly believe in bad omens, or bad luck, but he felt a strange chill as the crow launched itself off the couch, only to land on the kitchen counter, it's talons clawing for purchase against the granite.

 Behind him, someone said. “Don’t worry- she’s like that with everyone.”

 Adam whirled around, adrenaline and fear suddenly tainting his judgment, he braced his arms in front of his ribs. Instinct prevailed despite the years. There was no one there, but in his peripheral vision, he saw movement. He whirled again, and this time, he was relieved to find another young man- pale and smudgy, smiling with a thin, elfin mouth.

 “ _Oh._ ” Adam said. He knew it could only be Noah- they hadn’t met yet, but Blue had mentioned his uncanny ability to sneak up on people on more than one occasion, and who else would be lurking in the house at almost four AM? “ _God._ ” Adam breathed, his heart still racing a mile a minute. “You scared the shit out of me.”

 “Sorry.” Noah frowned a little bit. “I was trying to keep chainsaw from spooking you.”

 “It’s okay.” Adam said, and when he shifted his stance a little bit, his foot fell into the puddle of water on the floor. He’d completely forgotten about the cup, about his thirst, about why he was downstairs at all. Suddenly, his fatigue caught up with him. Adam sighed, immediately moving across the room grab the roll of paper towels on the counter.

 “I’ll help.” Noah offered. “It’s kinda my fault, anyways.”

 “You’re fine.” Adam replied. He didn’t want Noah’s help, nothing against him, of course, but he’d accepted too much from his friends as it was. Adam knew he couldn’t do everything alone, but he could try to do most of it. Internally, he scolded himself for leaning so heavily on his friends the past few days- and as if Noah felt his strife, he took the cup from the floor and rinsed it out in the sink, only to refill it and leave it on the counter. It was not expressly helpful, which Adam appreciated-  just a kind gesture. Getting a glass of water for a friend.

 Adam smiled at Noah, who perched himself on the counter next to the bird. It didn’t seem to mind his presence, only half-heartedly cawing again. “Shhh!” Noah admonished. “If you’re loud, the gremlin’ll wake up.” He stroked the fine feathers of her beak as Adam wiped up the mess. “You know he needs the sleep.”

 It hadn’t even crossed Adam’s mind that it was probably illegal to own a crow in the state of Virginia. He said. “Who’s is it?”

 “Ronan’s.” Noah said, still petting the corvid like it was a puppy, or a kitten- not a carrion bird. “She’s not usually this nice, though.” And as if he’d willed it, the crow nipped his finger, eliciting a tiny yelp from Noah, and then flapped back to her perch on the couch. Noah cradled his arm to hand to his chest with a wounded expression, and said. “That hurts Chainsaw, that _hurts._ I’m offended.”

 Adam’s lips quirked at Noah’s theatrics, almost too distracted by his new acquaintance to recall what Ronan had told him the first time they met, as Adam had been kissing at the underside of his throat. ‘ _I have a bird (...) A raven_ .’ So it wasn’t a crow after all- Adam wondered how Ronan had acquired such a creature. He thought _probably not legally._ And then he thought _I don’t know him at all._

How did you talk to someone after something like that? What did you say? It’s not like Adam could just bring it up at the breakfast table. _Hey, really cool that we had sex that one time, but I’ve been wondering about those random flowers you left? And the whole leaving part? Anyways, I’m starving, could you pass the rice crispies?_ He almost laughed at the absurdity of the situation. There was no easy way to say it, or bring it up. At best, he might be able to catch Ronan alone and apologize- what for, though, he wasn’t sure.

 He wasn’t sorry for sleeping with Ronan, but he was sorry if he hurt Ronan in any way. Probably, Adam should’ve been the one who felt hurt. A desk full of flowers didn’t make up for Ronan just leaving like that. He frowned at the floor. He thought of what Blue had revealed earlier- maybe he could tell Ronan he was sorry for his loss, but he’d probably heard that more times than he could count. Adam suspected it would hurt more than it helped, and God, he didn’t know what to think anymore. He just wanted to go to sleep. Adam pressed his palms over his eyes until he saw stars, and then lowered his hands.

 Noah said. “Are you okay? You have like, a serious thinking face.”

 “I’m just tired.” Adam said, which was half of the truth. “I think I’m gonna go back to sleep.”

 “You do you.” Noah shrugged. “I’m Noah by the way.”

 Adam laughed- the sound bubbling out of him unexpectedly. They hadn’t even introduced themselves. Noah smiled crookedly, like he knew what Adam was thinking- about the ridiculousness of their position. Meeting in the kitchen at four in the morning and talking about birds, like they did this every day.

 “Adam.” Adam said, and reached out to shake Noah’s hand- cold in his own. He repeated: “I’m going to sleep.”

 He forgot his glass of water by the sink.

 

 ✕

 When Adam woke for the second time, he felt dazed, and slightly sleep deprived. He supposed that was what happened when you woke up in the middle of the night to talk to your new roommate about your other new roommate’s bird, but he wasn’t used to the situation, so there was no way to be sure. He yawned. He stretched his legs under the sheets. He resisted the urge to roll over and go back to bed. Adam had the weekend until classes started, and because he was a junior, he didn’t have to go to any of the orientation activities on campus in the next few days, but that didn’t mean he relished the idea of waking up early again.

 After the years in high school of balancing work, extracurriculars, and school- he’d made sure to arrange his schedule so he had no eight o’clock classes. He remembered the way his bones used to ache when he woke up each morning, overtired and over worked, it became familiar. Adam didn’t really realize things could be different until the second semester of his freshman year, when he switched his classes around so he had more time to sleep, under the suggestion of his advisor.

 It made all the difference- Suddenly, Adam had the energy to do more than just _normal_. Normal was good, of course, he got A’s and B’s, but with more sleep, it was like he could suddenly perform at a higher level. His professors noticed, his classmates noticed, he got into a higher level course for his economics credit in the next year. He wasn’t used to succeeding without struggle, without fighting tooth and nail to claw his way to the top of the class. He liked it.

 And then, the next year, he met Gansey and Henry, and somehow an advanced marketing tactics class brought them together. Somehow, he made close friends. Somehow, he ended up in this house, listening as life began to stir on the floor below him. Floorboards creaking, hushed, indiscernible voices carrying up the stairs, the smell of something cooking. Adam sat up in bed, the sheets pooling around his waist. He only wore a pair of sweatpants, and his clothes were still in a box on the other side of the room.

 Probably, he should’ve gone to get a clean shirt, but instead he grabbed the one he’d worn the day before from the floor, and pulled it over his head- vowing to finish unpacking at some point in the day. He really wasn’t sure of what else he was supposed to do- all his summer reading and assignments were long finished, and it  wasn’t ideal to kill time by watching viral youtube videos on his ancient laptop. He had a shift at the garage that night, but the rest of the day was free. Adam wasn’t used to having spare time, and wasn't sure what to do with it, but he thought he’d worry about it _after_ brushing his teeth.

 Blue had shown him the bathroom the night before- at the end of the hall, and Adam had ducked inside for long enough to leave his toothpaste and toothbrush in a cup by the sink. He didn’t have the nerve to spend much more time in there, due to the obvious signs of it’s second occupant. There had been an electric razor that piqued his interest, and bottles of shampoo and conditioner already in the shower- boasting the scent of sandalwood and sage.

 That wasn’t really the most curious part of it, though- Adam had payed the most attention to the fistful of pulpy, blue flowers sticking out of the drain. They had that same unearthly look of the flowers he’d found in his room, and before he could mention them, Blue had grabbed them from the sink and flushed them down the toilet, muttering “I can’t believe he leaves this crap in here.”

 “You’re getting dirt in the toilet bowl.” Adam had said. A flicker of a glare passed over Blue’s face, though Adam didn’t really think it was directed at him, and her expression softened.

 “You can technically blame it on Ronan.” She didn’t elaborate on this comment, and instead pulled him out by the arm to show him where the linen closet was. Adam had not returned to what was, in rite, his bathroom, because he had a strange sense that he was intruding, but he _did_ need to brush his teeth, so there wasn’t much else to be done.

 It was blessedly empty when he shut the door, and no flowers were to be seen in the sink. He was almost disappointed by this, because on some level, part of him was still interested in the strange impossibility of the flowers left in his room last year. Adam dwelled on it as he squeezed a dollop of toothpaste onto his toothbrush, before wetting it under the faucet and starting to brush his teeth.

 He thought, _They couldn’t be real._ They were too red. Red as paint straight from the tube. Red as a gaping wound. But the stems had been wet, and the petals had been thick, bruising under his touch like a normal rose. They had been alive. But Adam still thought they couldn’t be real, his logical mind turning the evidence into a tangled mess. Nothing was conclusive. This was probably why he made himself _stop_ thinking about it, all those months ago. Because the flowers, in of themselves, were a contradiction.

 The door creaked open, and Adam glanced up in the mirror to see Ronan standing in the doorway. It took a fair amount of effort not to spit out his toothpaste immediately. He wondered if this gut punch reaction would remain the same, every time he saw Ronan- the air knocked out of him like a lifeless balloon.

 Ronan said, eloquently. “Shit.” and then. “I forgot.” Unlike Adam, Ronan did not perform the common courtesy of putting on a shirt before wandering around in the house. He looked strangely vulnerable, strangely open. Adam didn’t know if it was because he wasn’t fully clothed, or if it was the expression on his face- unguardedly shocked. It was clear he hadn’t been expecting to find Adam in the bathroom.

 Adam avoided looking at Ronan’s chest in the mirror, avoided looking at his eyes. He kept brushing his teeth. Ronan added. “Aren’t you going to say something?” His interest was at odds with the way he’d acted yesterday, despite his hostile tone. Adam considered, with his limited knowledge of Ronan, that he’d probably be volatile at the moment. He’d probably be confused- maybe even more so than Adam.

 Adam leaned over to spit into the sink, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “I honestly don’t know what to say.”

 Ronan’s expression shuttered, closing off, shifting even closer to the hardened expression from the day before. The change was almost palpable, any hint of vulnerability lost in the way Ronan straightened his posture and lifted his chin. Adam had clearly said the wrong thing.

 He sneered. “Whatever man, if you want to forget it ever happened that’s fine by me.”

 “I didn’t say that.” Adam replied, as calm as he could get while he was still half asleep, while he still tasted toothpaste in his mouth. He wasn’t equipped for an argument at this hour. “It doesn’t exactly make for casual conversation.”

 “What does it make for, then.” Ronan sniped, folding his arms across his chest, still leaning in the doorframe. Adam wished he would close the door, he didn’t want anyone else listening in- but he also knew it probably wasn’t a good idea to shut him in a room, alone, with the last person he’d slept with.

 Adam said. “I don’t know. I barely know you and it’s not like…” Again, he fell at a loss for words.

 Ronan’s lip curled. “It’s not like _what_?”

 “It’s not like we can just-” Adam heard a creak on the stair, and his voice dropped to a whisper. “It’s not like we can keep sleeping together, or something, we live in the same _house_.”

 Ronan’s expression shifted, like he hadn’t even considered that as an option. Adam didn’t even know what options there really were aside from his guesses of: fight about it, awkwardly ignore it, try to be friends, or do it all over again. None of them sounded appealing- aside from the last one, but Adam thought that would just make an even bigger mess so it probably shouldn’t even be considered as an option

 Ronan said. “I don’t just sleep with people.”

 Adam was surprised, and he wasn’t. He was surprised because Ronan had slept with him in a fairly casual way, despite it being the most intimate experience with sex he’d ever had- and he wasn’t surprised because it seemed like a very Ronan thing to say. He wasn’t sure how he’d gotten an idea of what was and wasn’t a Ronan thing to say, but it was safe to infer that the other young man had left quite an impression.

 “You regret it.” Adam said- it wasn’t a question. He’d come to this conclusion anyways, yesterday, but this seemed like it was just a further piece of evidence to the growing result. Adam told himself not to feel hurt, but it ate at him.

 Ronan went surprisingly quiet- his voice low. “I didn’t say that.”

 Adam shrugged, trying for nonchalance but probably coming off like he’d just gotten his heart broken for the first time. He said. “You didn’t have to.” And brushed past Ronan in the doorway, heading downstairs to breakfast without looking back.

  ✕

 Ronan watched Adam’s retreating form as he walked down the stairs, and quietly cursed himself for trying to talk to Adam at all. He hadn’t come to terms with the fact that they’d be living together- sharing a _bathroom_ for god’s sake. Seeing him yesterday had been like seeing a cryptid of some sort, except he didn’t have enough teeth. Adam was too beautiful- too living, too real. Ronan might’ve panicked. Might’ve put on his metaphorical asshole jacket and gone to town.

 Probably, it was already on when he’d got there. Lunch with Declan hadn’t improved his already prickly personality. They weren’t fighting as much as they used to, but Aurora’s death had rattled all of them, and it was easy to fall back into old habits. Declan made snide comments about Ronan’s sophomore grades all through the meal, and Ronan flung back insults carefully dipped in gasoline, making a mess of a fight that would probably burn on for the next few weeks over text (or ignored text on Ronan’s part) until Matthew talked them both into seeing a movie together and reconciling over garlic fries.

 A part of Ronan wished he’d been nicer to Adam, but at the same time he had enough to deal with excluding the mystery of whatever he and Adam were to each other. His mother was dead. His dreaming was volatile. He hated every part of college except living in this house, and that just got complicated, too.

 Ronan sighed, shut the bathroom door behind him, and locked it. He didn’t want Adam to walk in while he was showering, even if they’d already seen each other naked. He really didn’t sleep with people casually, and Adam had been sort of a fluke, except he still felt the same spark when he looked at Adam that he’d felt when they met. Which meant maybe it wasn’t a fluke and he had ridiculous feelings for someone he barely knew. Which was stupid. This whole thing was stupid, and yet, Ronan _wanted_ to know Adam.  

 At their current period of time, however, that was probably a terrible idea. He’d woken up this morning with leftover wounds from a particularly militant night horror- a group of long, shallow gashes along his left calf. He didn’t know how the blood making his sweatpants cling to his leg went unnoticed by Adam, but he wasn’t complaining. He didn’t need to bring anyone else into this mess- Gansey, Blue and Henry knew enough. Noah was dead, and seemed to know things before Ronan knew them himself. He wasn’t going to add Adam to his freakshow.

 Ronan shucked off his clothing without ceremony, and turned on the water, stepping inside the shower as soon as the water got warm enough to be tolerable. It stung against his fresh wounds, but he needed to clean them- needed to rinse the phantom scent of mud and rotting gore from his skin before it made him sick. He was surprised he lasted through a conversation with Adam. Nightmares about his mother’s death came frequently enough that he was used to it, now, but it never failed to draw in the night horrors, never failed to make him feel ill.

 Not even Chainsaw’s comforting presence, pecking away at the mess of summer assignments and dream-trinkets, could make him feel better this morning. He’d let her out of his room after the first bout of nightmares- the sound of her talons scrabbling against the floor was too reminiscent of his night horrors to be soothing. She liked being free range, anyways- scaring Gansey when he wandered into the kitchen for a glass of water at midnight.

 The water sluiced down Ronan’s back as he washed his his hair, washed his sweat-sticky skin and watched as the water ran pink down the drain where it ran over his cuts. He probably needed to try and dream more healing salve soon, because he was running low with his last batch. He wondered if he’d be able to take any out- something that used to be so simple, so easy- was now an uphill battle. He didn’t know how he’d control it this time.

 It wasn’t like he could just have another coming of age epiphany, and Ronan had a feeling that even if he could- that wouldn’t work. If his pain was was a living thing, it needed to be soothed. It needed to heal like a physical wound- but each time he slept he dreamt of his mother and it was like having stitches torn open. Her death was the gash, and the night horrors were the blood slicking his floor. He didn’t know how to make it stop.

 He was doing better with accepting it, doing better with waking up each morning and living his life- but he still struggled. He still struggled a _lot._ It wasn’t the sort of thing Ronan liked to admit freely, but his friends knew. They were supportive, but by now, he could tell that at least Blue was starting to get tired of his bullshit. In a way, he was starting to get sick of his own crap, too. He wanted to tell himself to get over it and move on, to go back to normal, but nothing was ever that easy. There was no ‘back to normal’- he was an orphan now, and he’d have to learn to live with it.

 Sometimes, Ronan didn’t know if he _wanted_ to live with it.

 ✕

 Ronan got out of the shower and went back to his room to get dressed, the sounds of a group breakfast carrying up from the kitchen downstairs. It was pleasant, familiar, and a part of him wanted to join in the morning ritual, but a part of him thought that Adam probably didn’t want to see him, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to see Adam. The entire situation was odd, and made for a complicated series of conversations the group had yet to have.

 There was the whole “Ronan can take things out of his dreams” situation, and the “Noah’s actually a ghost” situation, and the fact that “Blue amplifies all the supernatural occurances around her” situation, and the “Gansey died and came back” situation. Basically, there was a lot the household had yet to discuss when it came to inviting Adam to live with them. Ronan had deduced, as soon as he saw their new addition, that he was supposed to hide any of the obvious dream objects immediately- which meant his room was more cluttered than usual, strange trinkets and whimsical objects shoved hastily into the closet or under his bed.

 At a first glimpse, his room seemed normal- if a little messier than was acceptable for a twenty-one year old man. Black clothes overflowed from dresser drawers, a nightstand drawer hung open and expectant, sleeping aids and discarded sticky notes cluttered about the surface. It was an everyday marriage of cluttered objects, mundane and well used. If an outsider looked any longer though, they’d see none of his lamps plugged into the wall, or the way the tiny, overgrown plants in the windowsill sprouted chocolate covered peanuts. The way his desk chair, if spun clockwise, began to pulse out the beat of an obscure electronic song. These were all impossibilities he couldn't explain, so no one was allowed in his room, but anything truly dangerous had either been dreamt at the Barns, or moved there.

 That was the only reason Ronan was allowed to return to the Barns- currently, Declan held president over their estate, and could keep Ronan from going home. He had some small amount of sense though, and allowed Ronan to return if it was related to his dreaming. No one wanted a giant, scaly night horror terrorizing downtown Charlottesville. Most weekends, he made the hour and forty minute drive back to singers falls, a small price to pay for the euphoria of being at home. Technically this was not allowed, but Declan lived in DC and rarely returned to the Barns, so Ronan had never been caught. It wouldn't be hard to produce an excuse, either, not these days- all he’d been able to bring back from dreams recently were gory wounds and the severed limbs of several night horrors (Those, he buried in the back garden.)

 Feigning concern for his housemate's safety was valid- and not even feigned, most of the time. This was one of the few things he and Declan had discussed over lunch the day before, the only part that didn’t feel like pulling teeth. Unless he got his dreaming under control, he had a feeling he might be spending all his weekends back at the farm, burying bodies and hiding anything dangerous in one of the empty barns. It wasn’t a pleasant thought. Ronan loved The Barns, but he thought that being alone with nothing but his dreams, in the place where he’d found both his parents bodies, was a morose idea. He had too many memories there, good and bad alike, for any visit to be casual.

 So he stayed at the house with his friends, and suffered through his classes to the best of his ability. Even if most of his classes were Latin, which he dedicated himself to studying relentlessly, he still hated it. Ronan was waiting for the moment Declan gave up on forcing him through undergraduate school, thought it was starting to look like that moment would never come. _At least_ , he thought bitterly, digging through his dresser before pulling a shirt over his head - _I can give my forest better grammar_. He really didn’t care about the benefits of a college education.

 Ronan finished dressing quickly, neglecting to find socks and shoes. He wasn’t planning on going out, just plucked his phone from his dresser and read through his missed texts. He loathed his cellphone, but it was a necessary evil when it came to communicating with his siblings, and he would tolerate it. They were all he had left.

 [434-837-1263]: _hey lynch_

 [434-837-1263]: _u kno ur still in the student directory_

 [434-837-1263]: _u really should’ve changed ur number_

 Ronan ignored these. He didn’t recognize the number, but the tone of the texts was enough to give him a strong suspicion that the messages were from Kavinsky. The guy really couldn’t take a hint- Ronan didn’t want to associate with him anymore, not even behind the wheel of a car. It had been almost a year, anyways. Where or why Kavinsky found his number again, he couldn’t guess.

 [Matthew]: _declan says you’re not coming to church tomorrow_

 Ronan rolled his eyes. Hell would freeze over before he missed church for any reason other than the death of another immediate family member- or maybe Gansey. His fight with Declan yesterday had been tame compared to their blowouts back when he’d been in high school, and he always managed to make it to mass back then. A forty minute drive and a grudge wouldn’t be stopping him. He sent a quick text back, three words, one sentence. Even that much was bearable only because it was Matthew. _I’ll be there._

 He read his other texts with little care for their content, his group chat with Gansey, Blue, and Henry made sure his inbox was regularly overflowing with messages. It was supposed to be purely logistical, but Henry had a habit of sending Gansey buzzfeed articles he found, and Blue had a tendency to use her small texting plan for badgering the boys to shut up. Ronan’s strategy was to just wait until his phone stopped buzzing, and comb through the conversation later for any important details.

 [Gansey:] _Meeting after dinner tonight! Adam will be out of the house so we need to discuss our plans on how to adapt our lifestyle so as not to reveal any magic :)_

 It was not like Gansey to lie, but it was not like Gansey to bring another person into their fold. He’d been friends with Ronan and Blue since they met in their freshman year, and Henry since early sophomore. Ronan had only explained his dreaming halfway through that year. Secrets were secrets for a reason. Really, this meeting was more for the benefit of him and Noah- Ronan knew that. It wouldn’t be hard for Gansey and Blue, who had no obvious magical powers, to keep things a secret. As long as Henry didn’t direct Robobee to Adam’s face- he was probably fine too.

 Noah, on the other hand, was prone to unpredictable disappearances, and occasional ghostly behavior that bordered on creepy. Ronan had dream things all over the house- and because all of his friends knew, it meant they could keep the toaster that ran on dream energy, the dart board where you always hit bullseye, the couch that warmed itself if you sat in the right spot. It was disappointing to know that those things had to go. Of course, they had no real function, but the useless dream objects reminded him of having a real home, a real family. Somewhere he didn't have to hide who- _what-_ he was. A place he could revel in the simple joy of just creating.

 Now, it seemed that even if he managed to dream something harmless and charming, it would have to be destroyed, or towed back to The Barns. No more waking in the middle of the night to share a dream invention with a sleep-rumpled, insomniac Gansey.

 ✕

 Ronan propped up his feet on an empty chair in the kitchen, and refused to move them even when Blue tried to squish into the seat. It was a battle that Blue only won because he wasn’t wearing his boots, nor did he have the heart to kick one of his closest friends in the face, as much as he enjoyed teasing her. The situation was resolved with matching scowls, and Ronan’s feet in Blue’s lap- both too stubborn to move. Gansey watched with quiet amusement, but Henry didn’t quite have the grace god gave him to keep his mouth shut, and said “You two are making, like, the exact same face right now. Have you ever noticed how similar you are?”

 This comment led to snarling from Ronan, and spluttering from Blue, all while they waited for Noah to re-appear from wherever Noah went when he wasn’t with them. As Blue and Ronan half-heartedly bickered, Gansey puttered around the kitchen, making tea that only Henry would drink (even then, out of mere politeness.) Blue rejected the bright orange mug that Gansey tried to pass to her, scrunching her nose and saying “I love you, but the tea you make is almost as bad as my mom's.” Gansey looked only marginally wounded by this so Ronan guessed he’d heard both halves of the statement before. Gansey poured another mug full and looked expectantly at him.

 “Would you like to try some, Ronan?”

 Why Gansey even asked was beyond him, but Ronan glared and replied. “I’m standing with Sargent on this one. That shit smells like feet.”  

 Very quietly, as if he had been there all along- and maybe he had- Noah added. “It’s a special talent that you can manage to make english breakfast tea smell like that. You’re just putting dried leaves in boiling water. How do you mess it up?”

 Now, Gansey actually looked a little put out, and Ronan felt a twinge of regret for passing up the tea- but he knew from experience that it really _was_ terrible. Henry, seeing Gansey’s expression, jumped to the rescue. “You’re all wimps. If you put honey in it, it tastes just fine.”

 “I concur.” Gansey recovered. “You’re all missing out.”

 Blue and Ronan exchanged a long-suffering glance that, thankfully, Gansey missed. Noah looked vaguely offended by the idea of the tea, too, but because he didn’t eat or drink anything the sentiment was slightly misplaced.

 Gansey cleared his throat. “Well we’re all here so, we should probably talk about..” For once, his eloquence fell short. There wasn’t a very easy way to sum it up, and no one in the room quite wanted to say _magic_. “The Adam situation.” He pulled out his journal, like he was about to start taking notes.

 Ronan found this rich because he had multiple Adam situations, and he sneered. “The solution's simple- keep all the magical shit out of Parrish’s way.” Ronan wasn’t embarrassed that he remembered Adam’s last name from their first encounter, because no one else knew about it, or knew how significant it was that he’d remembered a detail that small at all.

 Henry quirked an eyebrow at him.“How do you know his last name? Haven’t you been avoiding him like the plague?”

 Ronan’s heart stuttered in his chest. It wasn’t that he was ashamed of what he’d done with Adam, or even that he regretted it (which, really, he thought he ought to wonder about considering the way it blatantly contradicted his usual thoughts on sex) but that he wasn’t ready for it to become general knowledge for the group. A part of him, however small, wanted to keep it that for himself- even if it was just keeping it a secret. Ronan avoided the question, and sniped back. “It’s only been a day, Cheng, I’m just getting started.”

 “God,” Blue said, gently shoving Ronan’s shoulder. “Don’t be such a baby, he’s actually a really good guy.”

 “I’m sure.” Ronan said, coming out sarcastic, though he truly meant it. He did not lie, and they had heard him say that, though, he suspected his friends didn’t always believe it. He also trusted, that for Gansey to invite Adam to live with them, he had to be remarkable indeed.

 “Ronan’s opinions on Adam aside,” Ganey interrupted- clearly assuming Ronan’s opinions were negative. Ronan supposed that was justified considering his initial reaction to finding out Adam was living with him, but that had more to do with the fact that someone who had seen him naked was now living in their house than any real dislike. “We have to make a decision. Are we getting rid of all the dream things? How is Noah going to..”

 Again, as it often went with magic, words escaped Gansey. Helpfully, Blue suggested. “Stay corporeal?”

 “Yes,” Gansey continued. “How are you going to stay corporeal?”

 Noah shrugged, and tapped the cabinets with the back of his sneakers from where he sat on the counter. “I dunno. I can’t really predict it.”

 If it had been a younger Ronan in that moment, he would’ve said “That’s real helpful,” but he’d learned to hold his grief with less anger, if only marginally. Instead, doing his best to seem begrudging considering he had an image to maintain, even with his friends, he said: “Is there any way I can help? My dreaming’s been shit recently, so if you’re disappearing again…”

 “I don’t think it’s about the energy.” Noah said, his eyebrows drawing together. “I’ve actually been doing better than usual, recently, but I told you. I can’t control it.”

 Gansey, ran a thumb over his bottom lip, contemplative. “So there’s no way to plan for it.” Noah shook his head in response, and Blue shifted in her seat.

 She said. “Maybe we should just tell him.”

 A sliver of hot fear buried itself in Ronan’s chest, and he spoke so quickly the words almost tripped over each other. “Tell him what, Sargent? That Noah’s dead and I’m a living nightmare machine? No way in _hell._ ”

 “We are going to have to tell him eventually.” Henry pointed out, diplomatic. “This isn’t the sort of thing that can stay buried forever.”

 It was a poor choice of words, and Noah flinched. Gansey wordlessly considered the suggestion, scribbling something into his journal. Ronan was still gripped by the flighty panic of fear, an inch from lashing out. Adam couldn’t know that Ronan was a monster, that could _not_ be the first thing he truly learned about Ronan- because it was the most honest and terrible part of him. He was a weapon. A creature. Unfit to be known, or wanted, always leavable. Sometimes, he couldn’t stand what he was.

 Ronan gritted his teeth. “We’re not telling him.”

 “Why not?” Blue asked. “I mean, I think Henry’s right on this one.” Gansey nodded, hesitantly siding with Blue and Henry. It wasn’t common that they fought, but usually it ended like this- three against one. He felt the panic inside him curl tighter, deeper, closer to the frightened part of him that simply didn’t want to hurt anyone else.

 Noah interrupted. “Ronan’s right. It’s not your secret to tell.” He so rarely offered strong opinions, that it was a surprise to hear him siding with anyone. “I don’t really care whether or not we tell him, but if Ronan doesn’t want to, we shouldn’t.”

 Blue looked like she wanted to argue this statement, but another reminder from Noah cut her off again. “His secret, his decision.” She crossed her arms, and Ronan had the sudden urge to take his feet off her lap.

He said. “We’re not telling Parrish.” And that was the end of that.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaaaa guys...i'm so sorry... this took me such a long time. i was sick for two weeks and basically incapable of doing anything but vomiting, sleeping, and coughing up phlegm every five minutes. that seriously cut into my writing time, and then when i got back to school after missing almost two weeks straight i had to makeup my work. plus, i've started taking a college level drawing class so, that's fun! 
> 
> anyways i've just been super busy and i also still don't have a concrete plan for this fic?? whoops??? so that's made it kind of hard to write. i just thought i should give some idea of what from canon has happened and what hasn't: the vague idea is that the events of the raven cycle all happened but without adam being there, and over the course of their freshman year at UVA instead of while they were in high school. i've got a vague idea on why ronan's dreaming is whack (aside from his grief) but that's just me Making Up A Conflict instead of having A Real One. might take awhile to get to it, though, just bc i want to do some relationship development before diving into magic. everyone has a long way to go, tbh. anyways! thank you if you're reading this update and keeping up with me. I wish i could give all my readers a hug
> 
> i realized i hadn't left it in the notes, but i'm a lot more active on tumblr than i am on ao3 bc i'm making edits and posting my art (plus reblogging a lot of aesthetic stuff lol) but if you want to check out my blog or chat with me i'm @admlynch on tumblr!! thank you!!


	4. fascination ends, here we go again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the chapter where adam and ronan argue and end up deciding to be friends.

_we were lovers_  
_now we can't be friends_  
_fascination ends_  
_here we go again_

\-- not in love, crystal castles

Objectively, Adam liked work. He liked being occupied, he liked thinking and puzzling over the way things fit together- whether it was somewhere under the hood of a car, or in some reading he was supposed to analyze for class. He liked the comfortable routine of his job, now that he didn’t have to hold down three at once. He liked knowing when he got something right, liked how it distracted and anchored him from the rest of his problems. When he was working, there was only the broken engine, only the assignment due the next morning. 

On the other hand, however, he was spending his Saturday in the autobody shop where he’d worked over the summer, now his primary job, up to his elbows in the grease and grime of a broken engine. There were things Adam would rather be doing. Namely, cramming himself into a booth at christian’s to compare assignments with Gansey and Henry, who were in almost all of the same classes at him, or taking the time to read a book Blue had recommended to him.

But only three weeks back into the swing of first semester, back to juggling homework, shifts at the garage, sleep, and time for himself, he stumbled upon a free evening. No essays to write, no research to do, and certainly no parties he wanted to attend. Adam could’ve relaxed, but he was the most comfortable in routine. It was when he had free time that he didn't know what to do with himself. He was so used to being productive, being timely and sensible, that when he had free time he ended up filling it with extra shifts, like he had this evening. For once, he wasn't working because he  _ needed  _ the money- having extra was always a relief, but the rent on their house was strangely cheap. When he’d asked Henry about it, he'd only joked “Someone died here a couple years back, so they’ve lowered the prices. You know, to compensate for the haunting.” Adam laughed amiably about it, and assumed Henry knew as little as he did.

He’d decided awhile ago to at least try to leave his pride out of his housing situation- as far as he knew, he was the only one relying on a scholarship. He knew Blue had a job at a hole in the wall cafe on the downtown mall, where she poured tea and gave her best customer service smile as she wrote down orders at the counter, but he didn’t know if it was to support herself, or just for a few extra dollars when she needed it. Adam didn’t want to ask. He thought it might be inviting questions into his own financial situation, which was fairly obvious in his lifestyle and the threadbare clothing he wore. He didn’t need to say it out loud.

It was a simple fact that Adam worked at the garage five nights a week, a simple fact that his tee-shirts seemed just a little too thin, a simple fact that he always ate lunch at the O’hill dining hall instead of stopping at a trendy little restaurant on the way to his statistics class. No one ever commented on it, but he knew his friends had noticed. He was poor. Even now, even 128 miles (128 miles that felt like an entire planet) away from the trailer he grew up in, he still found dirt under his nails and saved his change in a jar under his bed.

He sighed, wiping away the sweat on his brow without thinking of how the grease would smear across his forehead. Adam was tired, and his thoughts had been drifting around the enigma that was Ronan for his whole shift. At first, it was about as easy as he’d expected it would be to live with the last person he’d slept with, but in the last three weeks since classes had started, they’d fallen into a rhythm of avoiding each other. Of course, it was nearly impossible to do such a thing when they were in close quarters, but Adam had managed to keep a polite distance. It was easier in the evenings, but most mornings everyone but Adam and Ronan had eight o’clock classes, which meant that by the time he woke, the house was empty aside from the distant, tell-tale wailing of electronica from Ronan’s room.

It was inconvenient that part of him still held a present and clear attraction to Ronan, no matter how he glared and simmered and refused to look Adam in the eye. It was inconvenient that Ronan hadn’t  _ really  _ talked to him since that morning in the bathroom, a few weeks ago. They’d spoken, but it was only “Hey Parrish, pass the salt.” and Noah’s joking: “You sure you need more of that?” Adam didn’t know what to do about the situation- the remnants of his crush, the tension that seemed so thick you could almost touch it when the house was empty, the mystery of those flowers from all those months ago.

That, and the avoidance was beginning to irk him.

Again, he sighed, taking a moment to redirect his attention towards the blown head gasket he was supposed to be fixing. It was the third Adam had replaced that night, and with the monotony of the job, it had been easy to let his thoughts wander away from the task at hand. Luckily, it seemed like it would be the last repair he had to finish before his shift ended and he could go back to the house. He was always reluctant to admit that he was tired, even to himself, especially now that he wasn’t working as much as he was in high school. It felt weak, almost, to acknowledge that he was doing less, and still managed to be exhausted.

Sometimes, Adam thought the fatigue would never go away. Now was not one of those times, but it was a near thing. After a day spent tweaking details on his homework, he was glad to have something productive to do, even if he was getting worn out because of it. At least he could comfort himself in the fact that he’d be sleeping well that evening.

✕

The house was still and sleepy when he got back from work, almost completely dark aside from the cracks of light pouring out under bedroom doors and the faint whisper of hushed conversation from Blue’s room. Adam did not fail to notice the pair of boat shoes sitting outside her bedroom door. It was only eleven, but even on a Saturday night, things remained fairly quiet in his new home. Occasionally, Adam knew, Gansey and Henry liked to throw parties- but there hadn’t been one since the party he’d attended last spring. Already, he’d heard them vaguely musing with the concept of a halloween party, but october was over two months away.

A far away part of him realized that he’d probably be going to this hypothetical party if it happened, because he lived in this house  _ and _ he was part of the marketing group, but he didn’t like to dwell on it. Ultimately, despite his last party experience, they weren’t his thing. He’d much preferred the evenings where everyone over ordered on pizza, and Gansey convinced them to watch Monty Python and the holy grail, piled on the floor around the couch because there wasn’t enough room for all six of them. Even Ronan participated in these events, though somewhat begrudgingly, taking a place on the couch, covering himself in blankets, and glaring at anyone who dared to contest his spot.

Adam felt a little off, living there. Like a planet out of orbit in their small, familiar, interactions. He didn’t feel  _ bad _ , per say- just out of place. It was the details that threw him- the way a mint plant sat in the kitchen windowsill for Gansey, the way the door to the living room hung open and expectant most evenings, because that’s where Henry and Gansey liked to study. Now that Adam was living with them, there wasn’t much of a reason to go to the library instead. They had traditions- Movie night, breakfast for dinner, mario kart on sunday mornings.

It seemed strangely familial in a way that he had never experienced. Safe, in a way he’d never associated with living around other people. He’d gone from his parents trailer, to a single dorm room, to this. It was a little overwhelming, but if there was anything Adam could do, it was adapt to uncomfortable situations. He didn’t even think it was uncomfortable. He just thought, for brief, terrifying moments- that maybe it was too much, too close to something he couldn’t understand.

But then, just when he felt like an outsider, Gansey would smile at him, or Blue would ask him a question, or Noah would hook his arm through Adam’s elbow and pull him into the fold. This, too, was overwhelming- simply because he wasn’t used to this easy inclusion, this deep, intrinsic friendship. It had been different when he wasn’t living with them- because he could duck out any time he started to feel too close to them, too vulnerable. Adam was already afraid that he would fail somehow, that one day the rage he’d inherited from his father would rear it’s ugly head, and none of them would be able to look him in the eye again.

He was terribly used to being alone. This change, this company, making him feel at ease, was simultaneously disquieting.

The door to the kitchen creaked, drifting open without any indication of who had pushed it, or if it had been pushed at all. Sometimes, in this house, things like that happened. The curtains would flutter without a breeze, the doors would open on their own. A chill sank into Adam’s bones, but he thought nothing of the sudden temperature drop, because he could hear someone talking in the kitchen. It was indistinct, especially with his deaf ear, half a conversation- and strange because he’d thought no one else was awake. He felt the hair on his arms stand up, a sudden feeling of dread filling him.

He took a step forward and the cold disappeared, like he’d walked through it. He still felt a little sick, a little fearful- like something  _ other  _ was watching him. He hadn’t felt like this since he was a little boy, when he’d been afraid of the dark, and he couldn’t identify what, exactly, was making him feel this way. Adam steeled himself, and peered around the doorframe- He’d been heading to the kitchen, anyways. He still hadn’t eaten dinner and his stomach was growling in a way that was vaguely distressing, if not impolite. He couldn’t see anything at first, in the dark- but then his eyes caught on a looming, black shape on the countertop. He felt his stomach drop, and in a rush of irrational fear, he flicked on the lights.

The bright, white light flooded the room, and for a moment he was momentarily blinded, blinking as his eyes adjusted to see the shape on the counter was only Ronan. He sat facing away from Adam, a black iphone pressed tightly against his ear.

The feeling in Adam’s stomach dissipated, and he let out a breath. He didn’t know what he’d been thinking. He didn’t know what he’d been expecting to see, but it was a relief. To think that there was something wrong, something strange going on here…. Adam must have been exhausted. At the lights turning on, Ronan turned his head and looked over his shoulder, his expression jumping from carefully neutral, to complicated, and back again so quick Adam thought he’d imagined it. Ronan was squinting in the light, and with a free hand, he lazily flicked the second switch by the fridge, just in his reach. They were plunged into darkness again.

Inconveniently, his stomach growled.  _ If only _ , Adam thought,  _ I hadn’t turned on those lights _ . He could’ve just skipped the kitchen entirely, and eaten some of the special K he’d had in his room since he moved in. It was probably stale by now, but it would’ve been significantly less embarassing than the gurgling noises his stomach was making.  Adam was glad of the dark. He wouldn’t want Ronan to see his ears burning.

His eyes still hadn’t adjusted, so all he heard was Ronan talking into the phone. “One second.” It sounded like he meant to put the phone down, but Ronan listened for another moment and then said. “You know I’m coming Sunday. I came last week, didn’t I?” Ronan paused again for the other speaker to talk, and his voice darkened incrementally. “Don’t listen to Declan. He’s an asshat.” The voice on the other end of the line grew loud enough that Adam could hear it- but couldn’t make out what the person was saying, only the vaguely distressed tone to their garbled words. Impossibly, Ronan’s voice grew soft. “Come on Matthew, you know I’m not going to skip just because we’re fighting.”

Adam felt like he was hearing something he wasn’t supposed to hear. He desperately wanted to go over to the fridge and look for leftovers, but Ronan was sitting close enough, that while he was on the phone, Adam felt that he’d be invading the other man’s space if he went to get food. His stomach growled again, and he crossed his arms across his middle as if that would silence it. It might’ve been better to go back out and look for something to eat, but at this time of night his options were slim. Adam wasn’t in the mood for pancakes, or burgers, or listening to other people’s phone calls.

He shifted anxiously and Ronan sighed on the phone. He said. “I’ll call you back.” The voice on the other end went on for a moment, and Ronan corrected himself. “Okay. Go to bed if you need to. Just don’t worry about Sunday.” He listened again, and then said. “Night. Don’t talk to strangers.”

Adam’s eyes had adjusted to the darkness just enough, now, that he could see Ronan lowering the phone from his ear. He clicked a button to end the call, and for a brief moment the blue-white light from the screen illuminated his sharp features. Ronan was undeniably handsome. Adam wished that he wasn’t, and as soon as Ronan slid from his perch on the counter, Adam made for the fridge. Ronan just moved to the kitchen island, eyes following Adam’s form in the dark.

He cleared his throat. “Parrish.” Adam’s stomach made another angry-sounding noise. “Eavesdropping?”

Adam felt a small flare of anger at the accusation, but opened the fridge. He had to squint at the fluorescent light, but didn't reach to turn on the overhead lamp instead.“I just got back from work, and I haven't had dinner yet. If you didn’t want someone to interrupt, you should've made the phone call somewhere private.”

Ronan scowled, but didn’t say anything- obviously displeased with being in the wrong. Generally, Adam managed to lean towards the ‘polite’ side of the coolly polite manner he kept around Ronan, but he was dirty and tired, and sick of Ronan’s prickly demeanor. He knew that there was more to this man, because he’d seen it before, that first night, and in small glimpses since then. It had only been three weeks in this house, but he could easily tell that Ronan put on an apathetic front. He sniped at Gansey and argued with Blue, but underneath all that he still went out of his way to pick up bagels for them, or buy flowers at the supermarket because Henry thought the kitchen table looked sad. Noah told him that once he caught Ronan petting chainsaw and cooing at her- Adam doubted the cooing but the rest seemed plausible.

He felt suddenly exhausted with himself, and Ronan, for their passive avoidance of the situation at hand. He pulled a half eaten container of lasagna out of the fridge, and crossed the kitchen to put it in the microwave. As soon as that was settled, Adam leaned against the counter and crossed his arms over his chest. The light from the microwave cast both their faces in a yellow glow, and Adam  looked Ronan in the eye, and waited for him to say something, or to leave. When he did neither, Adam sighed. A few moments passed that way, Ronan staring back with a challenge in his gaze. the timer beeped.

Adam got the lasagna out. His stomach growled again. This time, he didn't have to wait. He rummaged in the kitchen drawer to his left for a moment, before triumphantly pulling out a fork, and taking a bite of his food. He was ravenous- Ronan forgotten, momentarily, in favor of getting some food in his empty stomach. He didn't even care that he was eating it straight from the container.

“So you haven't eaten since….?” This, of course, was what Ronan chose to make conversation about.

After he’d swallowed enough to talk, Adam supplied Ronan with an answer. “Noon.”

“Jesus Christ.” Ronan sounded mildly appalled. “That’s eleven hours”

“Yup.” Adam was too preoccupied to really make conversation. He was probably eating too fast- but that had been a problem for him since he was small. It had been ingrained at a young age to spent a short period of time at the dinner table, and it didn't help that most of the time, he used to be hungry. He almost always ate like he was starving, and usually finished his plate before anyone else.

“How do you go on that long without food?” Ronan was watching Adam like he was an alien. Whether this reaction was to the speed at which Adam inhaled his meal, or his ability to go long periods of time without food, he couldn't guess.

Adam shrugged, scraping the side of the Pyrex dish with his fork. “Practice.” For once, he hadn't thought before he spoke, and suddenly Adam he felt a little embarrassed. He didn't know why he let the truth slip out. “It’s not a big deal,” He added, trying for casual and probably coming off strained. “I forget to eat when I’m busy with other things. It happens a lot.”

Ronan grunted. “That’s probably not healthy.”

Adam felt a prickle of annoyance. “You’re one to talk.”

Ronan, Adam had found, enjoyed staying up extremely late. He’d wake up in the middle of the night to hear the low pulse of bass from Ronan’s room, down the hall. Somehow, no one else was disturbed by this. Maybe it was because they’d lived with Ronan so long. Maybe it was because they were on the first floor. Either way, Adam envied his friends. It wasn’t loud, really, just something for Adam to focus his attention on, which was usually enough to keep him up once he woke. It was annoying, but not annoying enough to get out of bed. Most nights, he just rolled over and jammed a pair of headphones in his ears to try and drown out the noise until he could sleep again.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Ronan’s frown had deepened and a crease appeared between his eyebrows.

"It’s probably not healthy to stay up for 19 hours straight listening to electronica.” Adam replied, still picking at what was left of the lasagna.

Ronan let out a sharp bark of a laugh at Adam’s response. The bitter kind of laugh that wasn’t so much of a laugh as the shape of a laugh, made something stark and biting in the silence of the kitchen. He said. “I couldn’t sleep if I wanted to, Parrish.” When Adam didn’t say anything, Ronan signed. “It’s called insomnia, nitwit.” 

“Oh.” Adam was not usually put at a loss for words, but this was not the situation he had imagined. He had thought Ronan just enjoyed staying up late for the novelty of it, enjoyed playing his music at 3am because no one else would be awake to hear it. He hadn’t thought of Ronan struggling. Ronan, unable to sleep at night, kept awake by whatever lurked in the shadowy corners of his mind. Adam swallowed. “That explains things.”

At this Ronan visibly tensed, and then forcibly shrugged his shoulders in a show of nonchalance. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, man.”

Adam raised an eyebrow. “I just meant the music.”

He saw a flicker of some new emotion on Ronan’s face, maybe relief, maybe fear- it came and went too quickly for Adam to identify- before his expression leveled and he said. “Whatever, if it’s taking away from your beauty sleep, I’ll turn it off.”

Adam turned around to put the pyrex lasagna dish in the sink, turning on the water and trying to think of something else to say to Ronan. He didn’t think there was much to say, aside from the elephant in the room that was their unspoken avoidance of each other. This was the first time they’d really talked since that morning in the bathroom, and he wondered if that conversation really even counted. A part of him wanted to go right back to that night when he’d first met Ronan just to feel it all over again. He’d been happy. He’d been a little smitten.

He thought Ronan had been happy, too. Suddenly, Adam wanted to ask what had happened to Ronan. He wanted to ask if they could go back, if Adam could move into a different house and run into Ronan at a different time. He wanted, desperately, to find some way to fix it, so he wasn’t standing in a kitchen with nothing to say. Adam liked to fix things. He liked to make things work out. He knew that this situation wasn’t that easy.

Turning around, Adam put his hands in his pockets. “I’m sorry if I ever hurt you.”

This obviously wasn’t what Ronan had been expecting, because his expression slipped from cool to complicated, his confusion evident on his face. His eyes flicked to the door, and for a brief moment Adam thought Ronan was going to bolt instead of trying to talk about the touchy subject. This irked him, but Ronan just buried his head in his hands, refusing to make eye contact. His voice was a little ragged. “You didn’t hurt me.”

“Then what  _ is  _ all this?” Adam didn’t have to gesture between the two of them. The avoidance was mutual, and clear to anyone with eyes. Ronan didn’t know how to look at Adam straight on, and Adam didn't know how to stop staring at Ronan when his back was turned. Luckily, Gansey was oblivious and if Blue, Henry, and Noah had noticed the tension between the two men they’d chosen to keep their mouths shut. He felt a little like they were running circles around each other, and had become abruptly sick of it.

Adam forged ahead. “I get it, if you’re ashamed, or if you regret it, but you could just tell me instead of avoiding it like this.”

“I’m not-” Ronan brought one of his leather wristbands to his mouth and looked away from Adam. “I’m not fucking  _ ashamed _ . Christ, Adam do you think I slept with you just because-” he stopped, frustrated, and ran his hands over his tightly-cropped hair. “Because I could, or something? Do you think that I didn’t want- that I didn’t-” He seemed to spit out the words. “- that I didn’t  _ like  _ you?”

Logically, Adam had considered that Ronan had to like him to sleep with him- but it was different to hear it said out loud. Different contrasted with Ronan’s unforgiving demeanor and sharp tongue, when they’d met again. He swallowed uncomfortably, and shifted so he was sitting on the counter instead of leaning against it. “I thought you were mad at me.”

“I’m not.” Ronan, at this point, was looking everywhere but Adam. He kicked the cabinet behind him with a battered sneaker. “I was an asshole.”

Adam suspected that this was the closest Ronan would come to apologizing, so he just shrugged. “I’d probably freak out if I found you in my dorm room, too.” Ronan didn’t respond, just kept hitting the cabinet with the back of his heel, an anxious rhythm. Adam did not let him off the hook. “But that doesn’t mean we can keep avoiding this.”

“Yes it does.” Ronan said. “If we just pretend it never happened-”

“So that's what you want?” Adam tried not to feel hurt by this, but he was. It must have been clear in his expression, because Ronan’s countenance softened incrementally.

“It’s not that I don’t like you.” Ronan’s voice was ragged, his shoulders a tense line. “But I didn’t think I’d ever see you again.”

If it had hurt before, this felt like a slap in the face. The world seemed to tilt sideways and Adam looked down at his feet, suddenly fighting for composure. He sucked in a deep, quiet breath.“Okay.”

Ronan looked frustrated, noticing Adam’s disquiet, though it was hard to tell if the frustration was directed at himself or Adam. “I don’t mean it like that. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

Adam did not want to hear this. He knew they didn’t really know each other, and so therefore it shouldn’t hurt him, but he didn’t want to hear the ways in which he didn’t measure up for Ronan Lynch. He ignored the raw place in his chest, the one that physically ached, and rubbed his eyes with the back of a hand. “What do you want to do about this?”

For an endless moment, Ronan sat with this question, eyebrows knit together as he contemplated what he was going to say. Adam watched him without malice, but a pang of heartache intruded when Ronan looked up at him.

“I don’t know.” Ronan’s flicked away from Adam’s. He leaned back on the counter, putting his arms behind him to support his weight. “What do _you_ want?” 

Adam knew he couldn’t say what he  _ really  _ wanted, because it was entirely unrealistic and completely impossible. There was no way to travel back in time to change their second meeting, to have it under better circumstances. It didn’t change the fact that that was what he wanted. Adam shrugged. “I don’t really know, either.”

“Helpful.” Ronan quipped, sarcastically, and Adam felt another fresh flare of annoyance.

He crossed his arms over his chest. “Well, you aren’t offering any suggestions.”

“I don’t know you, man.”

Adam had felt like they were back to square one. He counted to ten inside his head, struggling to reign in his annoyance, and tipped his head back to look at the ceiling, instead of Ronan’s face. “I guess that’s fair,” He drummed his fingers across the counter top. “But we can’t keep doing this.”

Again, Ronan went silent, like he had to think very hard about his answer before he said it. His sarcasm melted away with the weight of their conversation. Eventually, he folded his arms across his chest, mirroring Adam, and supplied them with a solution.“We can start over. As friends this time.” He looked particularly defensive at this idea, but a part of Adam was glad to have any sort of plan at all. Another, larger part of him, was reeling at the suggestion.

_ Friends.  _ How foreign, the idea seemed, to be just friends with Ronan. They hadn’t once stood a chance to be friends, not with the way Ronan had stared, not with the way Adam grew flustered. Not after that first night, and everything that came with it.

“Friends.” Adam repeated. He had a suspicion that ‘friends’ wasn’t going to work, but he wanted to respect Ronan’s boundaries, and it wasn’t like they had a better option. He exhaled a low breath, and lifted a shoulder in a half shrug. “If that’s what you want.” All casual. Like he didn’t care how things turned out in the end.

Ronan fiddled with his wristbands, studiously adjusting and re-adjusting the ties on one of them to avoid Adam’s gaze. “It’s what’s best.”

Adam said. “Okay.”

“Okay.” Ronan agreed.

✕

Usually, Ronan didn’t like to eat at the dining hall and today was no exception. Just because he  _ was  _ eating there, it didn't mean he enjoyed it. As students milled around the large, open room- he stabbed half-heartedly at a baked potato. Across the table, Gansey frowned at him. 

Gansey’s perfectly sculpted eyebrows were beginning to draw together. He said “You’re being sullen.”

“Thanks, Dick.” Ronan’s reply lacked the vitriol he saved for true offense, and he mashed the potato even further. He didn’t think he’d end up eating it.

Gansey watched with equal parts distaste and fascination as Ronan continued to abuse his food. “Is there something bothering you?”

Ronan wasn't sure if anything was vexing him in earnest. He felt particularly tired after a night spent avoiding his dreams, but he was strangely restless, a frantic hum in his bones. It ached to be relieved, so he took another stab at his potato. It didn't really help. He shrugged and said. “Declan’s an ass.” This was a constant. This was never an unwitting lie to a friend.

Gansey sighed, propping his elbow up on the table to lean on his hand. “What is it this time?”

“Nothing.” Ronan kicked at a beam under the table. “He’s just  _ Declan.”  _ And then Ronan thought of how Matthew had called him last night, and how _ after _ Matthew called him he talked to Adam. He pushed away the memory. “He keeps on telling Matthew I’m not coming to mass or some shit, even though I’ve come every weekend.” He did not end his silent “every weekend  _ since Aurora died _ ” to the end of the sentence, because he didn’t want to dredge that up into conversation. Destroying the potato was starting to get boring, so Ronan picked at the edge of his styrofoam plate instead. “It’s whatever. Just annoying.”

Gansey frowned. “If you think Declan is trying to influence Matthew’s opinion on you, that might be pretty serious.”

Ronan dismissed the statement, tearing off the edges of his flimsy plate. “Matthew is eighteen years old, I’m sure he can form his own opinions on us.” Gansey’s words scraped at the surface of his fears, though, and Ronan tried not to think about the possibility of his younger brother ever distrusting him. And then, a traitorous part of him thought it might be smart of Matthew  _ not _ to trust him. After everything that had happened, Ronan was beginning to wonder if he was a liability to the people he loved.

Before he could get too wrapped up in his own negative thoughts, though, Blue appeared, as if from nowhere- and sat down at the table with a huff. She was wearing a pair of bright red fishnets under heavily ripped jeans, and a tie-dye shirt cinched at her waist. Her hands were covered in something black, and smudges of it marred her face and neck, too. She dropped her backpack against the linoleum floor with a thud so loud, you might’ve thought she was carrying around a pile of bricks with her.

“Did you just get back from cleaning a chimney?” Ronan asked. Gansey looked like he wanted to scold him for it, but Blue shot Ronan a look so poisonous that Gansey kept his mouth shut.

“I hate conte.” She grumbled, and clarified her statement no further. To Ronan, she said. “I’m getting food.” She gave him a meaningful look. “Adam said he’s coming.” And to Gansey “Make sure no one steals my backpack.”

Now Ronan was the one scowling. He knew, considering his reaction when Adam moved in and his avoidance of Adam after, that Blue thought he hated the other young man. Of course, her assumption was quite far from the truth, but it still bothered him that he’d been so transparent. Before he could ask her how she knew Adam was coming, and whether it was too late to leave, Blue stalked off in her thick-soled boots, not bothering to look back to make sure they’d listened to her.

Ronan wasn’t sure he was ready to stop avoiding Adam and start looking him in the eyes, but he was the one who suggested friends, so he couldn’t go back on it now. Last night in the kitchen, it had seemed so simple. He thought things always felt that way, in the dark. Adam had told him that they couldn’t keep running in circles around each other anymore, and because a part of him knew that Adam was right, Ronan agreed. He knew Adam was right so he suggested friendship, because it’s easier to keep a friend at arms length than a lover. God only knew that Ronan couldn’t afford to spill his secrets to anyone else, not when they were capable of hurting someone.

He went back to stabbing his potato, and Gansey said. “At this rate, you could serve that at thanksgiving dinner.”

Ronan sneered out a sarcastic “Funny.” There wasn’t anything appealing to him at the hot bar that day, so he’d taken a potato because he didn’t know what else to take, and now, he wasn’t even eating it.

Blue returned a few minutes later with a yogurt, strawberries, and a slightly greasy cheese quesadilla. There had not been quesadillas when Ronan went to the hotbar, and now, his interest was piqued.

He asked. “How the fuck did you find those, Sargent?”

She already had a spoonful of yogurt in her mouth, balancing her tray with a free hand as she pulled out a chair and sat down. She mumbled something that sounded like “Hotbar” around the spoon and Gansey grimaced. He hated when people talked with their mouths full, and Ronan had been subject to that particular branch of scolding many times. Blue, however, was exempt aside from a pained expression. 

Ronan resented this, but only said. “Sorry, Maggot I can’t hear you around that sour cream shit you’re eating.”

Blue scowled at him but took no offense. This was the way their friendship worked. She took the plastic spoon out of her mouth and replied “It’s called yogurt, and it’s healthier than what you’re eating.” She looked pointedly at the desecrated potato on his plate.

“I know it’s yogurt.” Ronan wrinkled his nose. “But it’s  _ plain. _ ”

“I like plain yogurt.” She rested her arms on the table and picked at the chipped nail polish on her fingers. “I stopped buying fruit on the bottom for a reason.”

Gansey looked wounded. “I  _ like  _ the fruit on the bottom.”

Blue distracted Gansey by lacing her fingers through his, and saying. “Gans, I only bought the fruit on the bottom because I knew you liked it, but then you stopped eating it. It was a waste of good food.”

“We were eating it too frequently!” Gansey protested, and looked to Ronan. “It was like- remember that time in freshman year where you only ate grilled cheese for a month? And then you hated it?” Ronan nodded, and Gansey said “see! This happens when you eat one food too often. It’s like over listening to a song.”

“I still like yogurt.” Blue said. Now she was putting her strawberries in said yogurt, and Ronan was eyeing her quesadilla because she hadn’t touched it. Probably, he should get up and try and find food himself- he didn’t have a meal plan for nothing, but he was fairly content to sit and watch his friends bickering. It put him at an odd sort of ease, relieving some of the anxious energy that had been bothering him.

He crossed his arms and leaned back in his seat. “We all know that, Sargent, you basically have a shelf full in the fridge.”

Blue rolled her eyes. “That’s an exaggeration. There are only, like, four yogurts at home.”

“I think Cheng ate one.” Ronan told her, and Blue’s phone buzzed against the table. “You’re down to three.”

She removed her hand from Gansey’s to click on the homescreen, reading a text without looking up at them. “Adam’s here.” She glanced at Ronan long enough to tell him. “Play nice, for once, would you?” and then tapped out a short response and pocketed the cell phone.

“Please,” Ronan scoffed. “I’m charming.” But he had a strange feeling in the pit of his stomach. He couldn’t tell if he was scared, or just hungry. He didn’t like the fact that Adam had an affect on him, even if it was just Blue mentioning his name in passing. He pushed his chair back from the table, only a little abruptly, and said. “I’m going to go get a quesadilla.”

Gansey looked over at the line. “Are you sure you’re going to have time? I thought you had a class after this…”

“Roman History.” Ronan said, and then, sarcastically. “Riveting. I don’t care if I’m late.”

“Okay well..” Gansey had that concerned expression on his face that made him look like a middle aged dad looking after his pre-teen daughter, so Ronan relented.

"Fine, fine, whatever. I’ll just go.” He checked his watch- it had belonged to his father once, and now the face of it was scratched. He was lucky it wasn’t broken.

“Go?” Blue echoed. “You haven’t even eaten anything!”

“What can I say,” Ronan’s voice was mocking. “All that talk of yogurt killed my appetite.”

Blue shook her head, but the corner of her mouth turned up. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And about to be late.” Ronan said. He waved at them with mock cheer. “Bye.”

✕

Ronan took a swing at the punching bag. This was one of the few healthy coping mechanisms he’d developed over the past couple years, and after his history class, he’d decided to make full use of the series of on-campus gyms. 

The restless feeling from lunch had stayed with Ronan all through his lecture. Even on his best days, he could barely keep the motivation to take notes. Today had been worse. Today, he’d made miniature squares in his notebook, and filled them in with cross hatching until they were black, over and over again, until class ended. He didn’t feel like this very often, but Ronan knew it probably had something to do with the conversation he’d had with Adam. They’d both gone to bed immediately after talking last night- and when Ronan had breakfast that morning, Adam wasn’t there. He hadn’t seen Adam all day.

He’d just barely missed Adam at lunch, and he knew, if he was being honest with himself- he’d left early to avoid the other young man. Ronan didn’t know how to confront starting over, didn’t know how he was supposed to act around Adam. Probably, he was supposed to act the same way he did around his friends but Adam felt so separated from them, in his head. He couldn’t imagine them in the same category. Adam wasn’t Ronan’s friend, but Ronan didn’t know what else he could be. The friendship thing had been his own suggestion, and he was going to have to get used to it.

So Ronan was here, at the gym, hitting a punching bag with extra vigour. He’d wrapped his wrists and hands, but forgone boxing gloves. He had his headphones in, blasting something with a heavy base line, cancelling out the noise of the people around him. If he closed his eyes, he could almost pretend he was alone. That made it much harder to throw a punch, though. He just wanted to distract himself. To take out his emotions in a way that couldn’t hurt anyone. Except, technically it was hurting himself. He was training without proper gear, but it wasn’t as bad as it could’ve been. He’d wrapped his knuckles to be sure they wouldn’t get scratched. It did nothing to lighten the force of his blows. Absently, he wondered if he’d have bruises on his knuckles in the morning.

It didn’t matter. Ronan spent the better part of an hour in front of the punching bag, listening to music and throwing punches until his wrists were sore and sweat rolled down his back. It was enough to soothe him back to a steadier place, until he felt calm enough to hit the showers, change into a clean set of clothing, and head home. He was a little worse for the wear, but it had cleared his head, and cured him of that anxious, jittery feeling from before.

He could only wish the rest of his problems were solved that easily.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ya'll..... i'm SO sorry for the wait. i don't have a really good excuse but basically? things have been super busy the past month. something totally wild happend. do you guys remember that time maggie stiefvater tweeted about someone passing her on the interstate and waving a copy of the dream thieves at her out a window??? THAT WAS ME!!! i was the book waving reader!!! i'm still shook even tho it's been just over a month like?? holy shit??? i live in VA and i joke about how i'll run into her but i didn't expect it to happen?? shit's wild, basically. also: she drives so fast and so crazy sjsjsj it's kind of scary to be on the road with her i feel like she'd run me off it. 
> 
> anyways, as i said, things have been kind of busy. i went to boston and visited harvard and.. it's way too cold there all the fics where adam goes to harvard like?? do u want him to suffer? my school also changed it's curriculum so i've been scrambling to keep up with all the changes and basically, i'm exhausted. I have nothing written for the next chapter but! i've come up with a plan! a vague plot! an Idea! you guys know how kavinsky texted ronan in the last chapter?? ik some ppl rlly don't like him so i thought i'd add a fair warning that at SOME POINt he's gonna show up as a source of conflict bc :^) plot. anyways, i'm sorry i took a rlly long time to update my writers block has been absolute shit and i need to be better about disciplining myself to find time to write but sjsjs i actually am busy i'm so sorry. (i actually?? posted this without writing another scene i wanted to add into this chapter whoops??) 
> 
> i hope this was enjoyable!! please shower me with comments bc they're actually 95% of what motivates me to keep writing!! love you guys, thank you so much for being patient!!


	5. though i burn with dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the one where ronan and adam both have weird dreams, and they end up talking late at night. also: the one where gansey, blue, and noah are playing with one of ronan's creepier dream objects and then try to tell adam they were playing video games (it works)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uhhh so i think i have some? warnings for this chapter that i should put out there. there's some graphic description of some bloody/gory stuff but i promise it's not as bad as it sounds? also, thoughts leaning towards alcoholism. there's also some mentions of kavinsky and kavinsky drama is going to be a conflict in this story so? i thought i should warn everyone in advance.

_… I cannot save you though I burn with dreams._

 

\-- crescent moon like a canoe, marge piercy

Adam was sitting in the kitchen, a mug of watery tea gone cold beside him, statistics textbook splayed open on the worn wooden table. It was an average Tuesday night of studying, a pen clasped in one freckled hand, the other buried in his hair. He was not so tired as usual, which should’ve made it easier to study- but he was having trouble concentrating. Adam could see Blue, Noah, and Gansey chatting in the living room through the kitchen door, cracked open. He could hear the water in the pipes from the shower running upstairs. He could smell the sweet, earthy scent of dead leaves outside, drifting in through the open window on a September breeze.

He was trying, valiantly, to read a chapter on regression analysis, but it felt like the words were meaningless. He’d been studying since he got back from dinner, at around six, and it was almost eight. Technically, they weren’t supposed to read this section for another week or two- but Adam always liked to stay ahead. His eyes drifted away from the page again, back to his friends in the room across the hall. He couldn’t tell what they were doing- but apparently it was fairly entertaining, because they were all clustered around something. A TV, a laptop, a board game- Adam didn’t know.

He looked back at his textbook, but his eyes were getting tired. He knew keeping up like this wasn’t going to do him any good, and it wasn’t like he had anything important to do. He tried anyways, for another ten minutes- still easily distracted by the sounds of conversation in the room over. He could go into work, but he didn’t have to take another shift until Thursday. He looked back at his friends. Noah whispered something to Blue, looking much more serious than Adam had ever seen him.

It made him curious, because Noah was seldom so sober-faced. He was always earnest, and interested, and prone to zany bursts of energy as much as long stretches of disappearance. Adam wondered how he made up his class work in those instances but no one else seemed worried, so he didn’t ask. Now, though, his friends seemed to be shaken about something. He didn’t know if it was quite his place, but he pushed back his chair to join the three college students, hunched together as they spoke. He wanted to see if there was some way he could help.

Going to join the group was no longer nerve wracking, as it had been merely a month ago. It had taken awhile to get used to the idea that these were his friends, that this was his house, too. It had taken even longer to get used to Ronan- and if he was being honest, he still wasn’t completely used to Ronan- but they were friendly now. It didn’t feel like a gut punch every time Ronan walked into the room. That was an improvement, on his part. The attraction hadn’t faded, which was inconvenient more than anything else. How could it though? Ronan’s gaze still burned holes in Adam’s t-shirts, even if it was a shade darker than it had been when they first met.

Adam knocked his knuckles against the doorjamb to announce his appearance. Blue, Gansey, and Noah obviously hadn’t been expecting him- Noah jumped, Blue twisted around, and Gansey reached to pocket something that had been sitting on the floor next to a laptop that was playing a computer game. Why they were sitting on the floor was beyond him, when there was a comfortable couch and a pair of over-sized arm chairs to lounge on. The carpet was comfortable, yes, but he’d rather sit on the furniture than the floor. Adam tried to look at the object that Gansey was putting away, he only got a glimpse, but he had the strangest feeling that he’d seen it before and that it was something inherently _other._ A shivery feeling thrilled over his skin, making the hair on his arms stand up. He wasn’t what caused it- the miniature object, perhaps- looking something like an old, broken pocket watch _,_ or the way Noah glanced at him, like he was suddenly very interested to see what was going on in Adam’s head.

He tried not to sound cagey as he asked “What is that?”

“This?” Gansey pointed at the laptop screen. “It’s tabs. Noah got us to play.”

The video game on the computer screen was not, in fact, what he had been asking about, but there was a combination of poorly rendered archers, and large, pixelated men that looked like the air dancers at car dealerships- so he was momentarily distracted. He echoed “Tabs?” That did not seem like an accurate description for what was happening on screen as the air dancer seemingly gave birth to chickens who went to attack the archers.

Blue pulled the laptop into her hands and said. “It stands for totally accurate battle simulator.” There were very few times Blue took without asking but it seemed like a group effort and Gansey didn’t say anything as she clicked at his laptop. “But Gansey’s too much of a hipster to say the full name.”

She pressed a few buttons and Noah asked. “Next time, can we do ninjas versus spartans but give the spartans light sabers?”

Gansey, who had been plucking at his polo shirt, as if to confirm that this, at least, was not hipster-  brightened. “That’s a great idea!”

“Nothing in that sentence seems even _close_ to historically accurate.” Adam said, sitting down beside them, pocket watch temporarily forgotten.

“That’s the fun of it.” Noah said, impish smile curving at the corner of his mouth. “Who wants to relive the strategy of real history.” He said, in a flatly sing-song tone. “Bo _ring_.”

This teasing was clearly directed at Gansey who said. “I’m allowed to use this game however I want, it’s on _my_ laptop.”  

"Yeah,” Noah said. “But reenacting battles from fourteen hundreds wales is lame unless you’re adding light sabers to the mix.”

“It is not _lame._ ” Gansey argued, and Blue shot Adam a meaningful look from behind his back, as if to say, _Why do I put up with these two?_ or possibly: _uhg, history nerds_. Adam couldn’t be sure- he wasn’t quite adept at reading her expressions.

He gave her a small, wry smile anyways, and Noah intercepted the look. “Hey, are you two making fun of us? because this is serious- why would you play with plain old peasants if you could have _light saber_ peasants!” And it went on like that for awhile longer, until Gansey set up a game (giving the knights ninja stars, in concession to Noah) and then they all became absorbed in how to beat the computer generated team of peasants and chicken men and chariot riders that they faced.

Adam had a nagging sensation that he was forgetting something, as he played the video game with his friends- but he allowed himself, for once, to carelessly enjoy his time instead of dwelling on his anxieties. He was sure they would come back to him, anyways, so he helped advise his friends for a few more rounds of the game, until his eyes grew tired again, and he started to grow stiff in his sitting position on the floor. He yawned. He squinted at the miniature clock icon on Gansey’s computer that read: 10:30. It seemed too early to go to bed, but old habits died hard- Adam would take any opportunity to sleep that he could get.

Gansey seemed to notice Adam’s exhaustion first because he nudged Adam’s leg with a boat shoe-clad foot. “Hey, are you falling asleep on us now?”

Adam mumbled a “No” at the same time Noah coughed a “Yes.”

Blue leaned back. They were all wedged in the area between the couch and the coffee table so they had somewhere to rest their backs. She said. “We _have_ been playing for a while.” She stifled a yawn with the back of her hand. “I’m ready to go to bed.”

Gansey put an arm around her shoulder, and she really must’ve been tired, because without any self conscious glances, Blue leaned into the crook of his neck, easily, closing her eyes with a soft sigh. Gansey looked at her then with so much affection that Adam had to look away- the moment seemed too private. Noah, however, was unaffected by their proximity, and powered down the laptop.

“If you’re all going to bed, I’ll go too.”  Noah clambered to his feet, and brushed non-existent dust off his faded jeans. Adam tried not to seem too eager as he nodded along, like it was casual agreement and he wasn’t dying to sleep for a good ten hours. He yawned again; which ruined the effect.

Blue’s eyes were still closed, face tucked against Gansey’s neck as she suggested. “Why don’t we _all_ go to bed?”

Adam said: “I’m fine with that plan.” An easy silence of mutual agreement filled the room for a few long moments until Blue and Gansey departed with a simple ‘goodnight’ and well wishes for breakfast the next morning. When they left, Adam turned around to pass on the sentiment to Noah, but the other man was already gone, leaving Adam alone in the living room. Noah must’ve slipped out when he wasn’t paying attention. He shook his head and rubbed his eyes, suddenly tired to the bone. It irritated him that something so simple had finally drained him, but there wasn’t much to do aside from climb the long staircase off the front hallway, and return to his room to go to bed.

Being tired had always been a constant state for Adam, even now that he was on his own. Sometimes he wondered if he’d gotten _too_ used to it- that he purposely organized his life to be too full, too busy for close friendships or intimate relationships. He used to tell himself he didn’t need other people, but now that he had friends, he wasn’t sure if that was entirely true. He always thought that he would be the only constant in his own life, that he could only trust himself- but a slow, unfolding, intrinsic part of him thought that maybe he had room for Blue and Gansey, Noah and Henry- even Ronan, too. He didn’t have to be alone after all.

Adam changed into an old t-shirt and stripped down to his boxers before he climbed into bed that night. For fifteen minutes (before he turned the lights out, rolled over, and fell into a deep sleep) he read a book of poetry by Mary Oliver that Blue had lent him. It was nice, mostly about nature and accepting yourself, and it made him oddly quiet inside.

When he slept that night he dreamt of a forest. It was dark, and green, and deeply strange- an imaginary place of fear and startling beauty. He heard the wings of something living fluttering darkly through the canopy. Broken pocket-watches hung from low hanging branches of the spidery trees, and in their glassy faces he saw a shattered reflection of himself. Adam didn’t remember his dream when he woke up- somewhere in the middle of the night, sweat beading on his forehead. Only a fuzzy feeling in his head and a familiar, sick, ache of longing in the pit of his stomach. It was like he was looking for something he couldn’t remember.

✕

When Ronan slept that night, he dreamt of cabeswater. But it wasn’t the cabeswater he’d come to know and love. There wasn’t a gentle breeze to stir the leaves, there weren’t any fireflies glowing in his peripheral vision. This was cabeswater after the demon. The trees were dark, and without even looking, he knew night horrors lurked between their trunks and branches. He could hear the tell-tale _tck tck tck_ of their beaks clicking, could smell the carrion on their skin. It wasn’t a pleasant dream. It was the sort of dream where, usually, he woke up with something bloody.

At least this time, he could tell he wouldn’t wake up with anything violent- certainly not anything _helpful_. The magic of the dream was too weak to pull out something large, but that didn’t ease his mind. Ronan’s stride was apprehensive as he took a step towards the tree line, bare feet sinking ankle-deep into the dirt. There was something thick and sticky in the ground with him, making the soil the consistency of mud, but he refused to look down. He felt it on his skin, already drying at his ankles. He took another step away from the clearing he’d been in. He didn’t want this dream. It was already beginning to make him sick.

He kept his eyes trained on the edge of the forest, avoiding the ground because instinctively, he knew that if he looked down- that would make it real. He could smell the coppery tang of blood and earth, soil and flesh. If he looked down, he would wake up with it. He kept moving, kept breathing quick, shallow gasps of air through his mouth to avoid the scent of it. The air felt cloyingly thick in his lungs, the forest suddenly humid and hot as a virginia summer. The air was dead- no screaming cicadas, no chirping crickets. Just the _tck_ of his night horrors and the squelching of his feet through the mud.

Ronan was only a few feet from the edge of the forest, but it felt like miles. He took a long, quick, step- trying to close the distance. He still hadn’t looked down. His foot fell across something wet and meaty- and a sliver of something sharp buried itself in his heel. The pain was hot, and Ronan hissed through his teeth, biting back a curse. Without thinking, acting completely on instinct- he looked down, and realized that what he’d felt sinking into his heel was a piece of his mother’s shattered bones.

He still remembered her body, though it had been months now, since her death. “Body” was not quite the word for it. Carcass was more accurate- he couldn't make out her limbs, only a tangle of blonde hair threaded with sticks and streaked with mud. The rest was all blood. Oh, the _blood_. It was everywhere, suddenly, without him even touching her- it stuck to his hands and smeared down his cheeks, slick as oil and too viscous to be the real thing. He felt like he was drowning in it, felt like he was going to choke on the metallic tang of the air. A cold slice of panic seared through his bones.

His heel still hurt, and he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the scene. The chatter of his night horrors in the trees was growing louder, a raucous cacophony, threatening to pounced down on him.

 _Wake up._ He thought. _Please, please, let me wake up._

The dream couldn’t get any worse, and yet, it did. A night horror with thick, leathery wings and a clicking beak swooped from the trees. Ronan ducked, nausea starting to roil in his stomach. He reached for the piece of bone lodged in the muscle of his ankle, sure only in the way of dreams, that if he pulled it out he would wake up. It hurt, viciously, when he pulled on it, tiny slivers of bone catching painfully against his skin. He didn’t know if it would hurt more in real life, or if the dream was just amplifying the agony. He yanked the bone out, and woke up.

His eyes flew open to the darkness of his room, the vague looming shape of a chair, the closet door hanging open, the sound of chainsaw, flapping around distantly. Ronan felt like he was going to be sick- but he couldn’t move. His body was numb, empty, _vulnerable._ If being paralyzed hadn’t been enough, it was so dark that he could barely see. It was silent in his room, no echo of activity elsewhere in the house, dead as the woods had been in his nightmare. Ronan waited for the numbness to leave his limbs, slowly regaining feeling in his hands to feel the slick horror of blood on his fingertips. The piece of bone still lay in his open palm, like a vicious taunt.

Bile rose on the back of his throat, and he felt only a moment away from vomiting all over his sheets. His skin felt itchy and tight. He could only guess what sort of mess he’d brought back from the dream- dirt and blood, maybe even a night horror. He found the latter unlikely considering that he couldn’t hear anything clicking away in his room, and nothing had attacked him yet. The first was already guaranteed, judging by what was in his hand. By the time his limbs thawed back to life, Ronan’s eyes had closed against his will- fatigue weighing down on him, only to open a few seconds later. The dream had exhausted him, but every time his eyes shut he saw that nightmare, saw the dead wood and his mother’s broken corpse.

He rolled out of bed and staggered to his feet, heading straight to the bathroom down the hall, past Adam’s door. The light was on in his room when Ronan walked by, but he didn’t stop to ask why the other man was awake. He was more focused on washing the dream blood off his skin before he threw up from the scent of dirt and rotting flesh that overwhelmed him. He knew, logically, that it couldn’t be as strong as he was smelling it- but that piece of logic did nothing to ease the sick way he felt.

Ronan locked the door behind him when he got to the bathroom, and turned on the shower, then the sink. His fingers left smudges of slippery blood on the handles. He threw his hands under the sink faucet, first, and watched as the water washed the blood away. The shower would need more time to warm up. The blood was from a dream, so it hadn’t dried- at least not on his hands. His feet and ankles still felt dirty and sticky. The entire thing made him ill. Ronan leaned forward, his forehead bowed against the cool porcelain of the sink. He took a few deep breaths, trying to fight down the nausea that clawed up his throat. _Breathe in, breathe out, breathe in, don’t think about it, breathe out._

He still threw up, a few minutes later, despite his efforts. There was nothing in his stomach but acid and bile, so it could have been worse- but vomiting was never a pleasant experience. He stripped off his clothes, got in the shower, and stayed under the stream of hot water until the blood had long since spiralled down the drain, his skin turning pink in the heat.

When he got out, wrapping a clean towel around his waist, the bathroom mirror was fogged up, and the remnants of his dream were still streaked across the floor- mud and that oily, red blood. He cleaned it up with a sort of familiar efficiency, and then went to clean his room. Generally, after these dreams, he had to wash his sheets and change into fresh clothing. It was a routine he passed through easily.

Chainsaw was in his room too. She had been making a nest out of last year’s assignments at his desk,  and then flew over to the trashcan and alighted on the rim of it, peering inside like she was tempted to turn it upside down and rifle through the contents of it. This was a favorite pastime of hers, but Ronan crossed the room to shoo her away from the garbage. He didn’t want to clean up another mess.

“Go on,” He said, gesturing back at his desk. “Go finish making your nest or some shit, don’t mess with my stuff.”

Chainsaw, of course, was a raven and did not understand english, but Ronan knew she understood his body language by now. Instead of returning to her nest, like he’d asked her too, she just hopped down to the floor, before taking flight and perching on Ronan’s shoulder. He wasn’t wearing the correct clothing to handle her at the moment, and her talons tore yet another hole in the neckline of his tank, leaving a miniscule scratch on his neck. Ronan glowered at this. “Oh, come on Chainsaw.” Chainsaw nipped his ear with remarkable gentleness. Ronan gave up, but still told her quite firmly to “fuck off and bother someone else.” Chainsaw did no such thing.

The strange pair, man and corvid, went to do the laundry in the basement. Ronan carried it all. Chainsaw kept her talons firmly locked in the fabric of his shirt to keep herself from falling off as he walked. It didn’t take him long to load his clothing, the sheets, and the soiled washcloth into the washing machine. He made sure to turn the water setting to cold, and dumped in a capful of the extra-strength detergent. The sheets would need it.

After all this, Ronan didn’t feel like trying to wrestle sheets onto his bed upstairs, but he was thoroughly exhausted. He didn’t usually have two nightmares in a row, so he considered crashing on the couch in the living room. In a scuffle of wings,  Chainsaw hopped anxiously from one of his shoulders to the other. He didn’t chastise her for ripping another hole in his clothing. Sometimes, he’d found, it was just easier to give in to the inevitable.

In deciding what to do next, it occurred to Ronan that he could drink. Ronan knew this was not the way to cope with his problems, but he wanted to numb out the fresh wound of that dream, at least for a little while. He wanted to sleep again, this time without dreaming. He wanted an escape from the onslaught of nightmares that threatened to break the bones of his heart each time he closed his eyes.

There was a liquor cabinet upstairs, and as if sensing Ronan’s imminent regression to an old habit, Chainsaw nipped at Ronan’s ear again. It was harder this time, and Ronan cursed, not so viciously as usual because it was only Chainsaw, but it had still hurt. If she had meant to deter him, which was unlikely seeing as she was a bird, it had the opposite effect. Ronan glared even though there was no one to glare at, and stormed up the stairs even though there was no one to storm past.

He was tired. He was frustrated. He just wanted a break.

Ronan went to the kitchen and rummaged through the cabinet above the sink for a few minutes until he found what he was looking for- a bottle of whiskey Gansey had hidden near the back of the shelf where Ronan would be hard pressed to find it. For a long moment, he just looked at it- considering, again, if this was what he wanted. He grabbed the neck of the bottle and pulled it out onto the counter. Ronan felt as if he was having a staring contest with in inanimate object, waiting to see who would break and give in first. Of course, because it was a bottle of whiskey, there was no question to who would break. It would be Ronan.

Abruptly, he was angry with himself. For turning to alcohol when really, Gansey would be more than happy to talk to him, or Noah, or even _Blue._ There were a thousand options for him, and yet, he always came back to this. It made him feel sick and ashamed and when Chainsaw squawked at him, his shapeless anger intensified. He allowed her to press in close to his neck, but now he had far too much energy to sleep. He needed something to ground him, to keep himself occupied. More than anything, he needed to get out of the house as soon as possible.

In under ten minutes, Ronan had returned to his room and pulled on a pair of stylishly distressed jeans, pocketed his phone, (too rattled to consider leaving it at home, in case someone noticed his absence),and crept down the stairs with all the stealth of a thief. He was not expecting to be interrupted, despite the fact that he had no idea where he was going or what he planned to do, but someone coughed before he could make it out the door.

Ronan wanted to curse. His phone buzzed in his pocket. He turned around expecting to see Gansey, worried, or disappointed, or annoyed that he was sneaking out at this hour- but it was only Adam. He didn’t know if that was any better. The other young man was holding a glass of water in a fine-boned hand, wearing only a ratty t-shirt and a pair of boxers. He looked troubled, and exhausted. Ronan tried, instantly, to look less miserable- squaring his shoulders and standing up straighter. In half hearted greeting, he nodded. “Parrish.”

“Lynch.” Adam replied, sleepily rubbing an eye. “What’re you all dressed up for?” There was something different about Adam’s voice, a subtle accent that sounded like a summer afternoon at The Barns felt. Ronan had never noticed it before.

Ronan was, in fact, dressed no better than usual, but considering his usual evening wear (black boxers and silkily expensive headphones) he supposed this could count as dressed up, for the hour. His eyes slid to a hole in Adam’s shirt, right on the left side of his chest. It was big enough, that if Ronan had been closer and bolder, he could’ve pressed his fingertips through the tear and felt Adam’s heartbeat. He swallowed thickly.  “Generalized mischief making.”

“Ah.” Adam said, nodding sagely. “Three AM. The perfect hour for mischief.”

They had gotten more comfortable around each other, since the agreement to become friends. Adam was smart and analytical, critical and pragmatic, while still remaining polite to the people around him. He fit in so easily with the group, that sometimes, Ronan could tell the other’s forgot there was a time that Adam _hadn’t_ been there. He was also the only one who could match Ronan in scathing sarcasm, which was refreshing. Ronan could never forget his presence, and sometimes when Adam looked at him, he felt like he was laid bare all over again. Like he was vulnerable. Like it was obvious he didn’t know what he was doing.

Adam’s eyes were hollows in the low lighting and Ronan gave up on getting away. He leaned against the door, casual as if it were lunch in the dining hall, and asked. “What about you? Scholar by day and vigilante superhero by night?”

This made Adam huff a tired laugh, which pleased Ronan. He was still too rattled from sleep to smile, but in other circumstances Ronan thought his lips might’ve twitched. Adam shook his head. “I had a dream. It wasn’t a nightmare but it was-” He trailed off for a moment- voice hazy with sleep, pale eyebrows furrowed together. “Weird.” He finished.  “Just weird. Can’t really fall asleep now.”

"Weird dreams.” Ronan deadpanned, though the confession made him uneasy. “Sounds harrowing.”

Adam was not too tired to roll his eyes at Ronan, though, it seemed like he was barely keeping them open. He leaned against the arm rail of the staircase, still holding that glass of water. He hadn’t even taken a sip.  “I’m sure you’d know all about them, Lynch.”

Ronan tensed at the implication- he wasn’t even sure what the implication was, but he didn’t like it. He was certain Adam didn’t know of his dreaming abilities. He was sure that if Adam had known, he wouldn’t be looking at Ronan like he was looking at him now. Like he was interested. Ronan couldn’t tell if it was the scientist's kind of interest that Adam held for everything he didn’t understand, or another, decidedly more than friendly interest. He wasn’t sure which one he wanted it to be. He didn’t say anything, because silence wouldn’t give him away, just pulled his phone out of his pocket to look busy. He did not expect to have a text, but there one was one, lighting up his home screen so brightly he had to squint at it.

[434-837-1263]: _u still race? or are u too much of a pussy to be seen on the streets anymore_

Ronan did not dignify this with a response, just shoved his phone back in his pocket. At this point, he had begun to recognize this number. It was troubling, and uncomfortable to know that Kavinsky was back in town. They hadn’t quite been friends, but they weren’t enemies either. Looking back Ronan thought they had been using each other. For a thrill, for a distraction, for an escape. For someone who was the same. Despite their shared ability to pull things from their dreams, they were not, in fact, the same, as Kavinsky had believed. Ronan could live with his pain. Kavinsky just ran away from it. He had no interest in rekindling their non-friendship, and had told Kavinsky as much when he had tried to contact Ronan, as soon as he got out of the hospital. They had been involved in a horrific car crash that nearly cost Ronan his life, though he’d barely cared at the time, and after that (at Gansey’s insistence) he cut ties with Kavinsky.

It had not been easy to avoid him, at first, but Kavinsky had disappeared their sophomore year. Ronan did not ask where he went, but they were in the same classics program, so he’d heard whispers. K was doing an exchange program in Bulgaria. K had transferred to USC so he could party in Hollywood between skipped classes. K was in rehab because someone important had finally caught him snorting coke. None or all of these stories could be true, and Ronan would not care. He only cared that Kavinsky was texting him, frequently enough that it was beginning to feel like it had a year ago- after the crash, before Kavinsky had dropped off the face of the earth.

He felt like he was being hounded.

Adam crossed his arms “What are you really doing? And don’t say mischief making again. You do that all the time, which means it doesn’t count as an individual activity.”

Ronan couldn’t help it. With his attention directed back to Adam, the edge of a teasing tone in Adam’s voice, he smiled thinly. Ronan prized himself for his honesty above all else, but he wasn’t sure what the true answer to this question was. He hadn’t had a particular plan, when he’d gone to walk out the door.

He shrugged, his voice coming out sarcastic even as he told the truth. “Running from my problems, Parrish. What else?”

Adam frowned at this. He still looked like he was about to fall asleep at any moment, but before he could say anything, Ronan cut in. “You should try to go back to bed. It’s pretty late.”

Adam snorted. It was not a dignified sound. “Pot calling the kettle black.”

They had been through this at least once before so Ronan was not upset by this line of conversation. He just rolled his eyes and folded his arms across his chest. “Yeah, whatever. You know it’s not like I was going to sleep anyways.” He put a mocking hand to his heart. “I’m touched that you tried.”

“Someone has to.” Adam yawned. It really was getting ridiculous. Ronan was tempted to push him up the stairs.

He said. “You think you’re fit for the job?” He didn’t know what, exactly, he was implying, but it felt a little like flirting and a part of him couldn’t help it. Adam was still terribly attractive and terribly smart, and he had a pull on Ronan like a magnet whether he knew it or not.

“I think I can handle your hissyfits, yeah.” Adam was smiling a little. Ronan almost didn’t have it in him to be offended that Adam said he had hissyfits. He wanted desperately to look away.

'You haven’t seen me at my worst yet.” Ronan said, thinking of his nightmare earlier. Of the blood on his hands and the darkness in his head. “And I don’t think you want to.”

“That sounds rather ominous.” Adam replied. He looked a little less tired than he had a moment ago. Like he was terribly interested, and it bothered Ronan. He was gripped suddenly with the fear that somehow he’d be discovered, that somehow he would dream something terrible and it would hurt Adam or Gansey or any of the people he cared about.

Ronan looked away. “We all have our secrets, Parrish.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yay! an update! i know i take forever but in my defense life is busy and it's hard to motivate myself to write. i was going to try to write one more scene for this chapter but? i decided that would feel rushed and i didn't want to bring in the conflict too soon. also: adam having that weird dream? a nod to the fact that magician!adam is eventually going to happen, it's just a slow burn (much like adam and ronan dealing with their feelings lol, love them) i also finally came up with a legitimate and good source for an immediate conflict (kavinsky being generally canon level of kavinsky awful), and then there's gonna be a long conflict over the course of this fic (magic shenanigans), which, i'm starting to think? it might be a beast. it's also very possible that all my updates are going to take this long, so i should probably stop apologizing about it.
> 
> anyways, i hope everyone had a great month (i know i did, even though i was crazy busy) and it would mean so so much to me if you guys left comments!! they're actually a huge motivation to write and help a lot in the moments where i'm just Tired of everything (including this fic) and i just don't want to keep going with things. i know ao3 is shifting to have a weirdly silent audience but please, just leave a comment. they make my day <3


	6. [ my heart ] will never know

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the one with tad carruthers, and ronan throwing a cell phone. surprisingly, these occurrences are not related!

_My heart will never feel_  
_Will never see_  
_Will never know_

\- - genesis, grimes

Adam Parrish fell easily into a rhythm. He was constantly busy with work, classes, and  the cavalier marketing group- which took up much of his free time. Luckily, he lived with his friends. That made spending time with them easier- a lunch with Blue and Noah crammed in between a meeting with his advisor and his statistics class. A non-conversation in the living room with Ronan, who was sprawled across the couch, just as Adam came home from work. Late nights at the library with Henry and Gansey- just like last spring- leaning over sketched logos for the app they were supporting, swapping ideas like old clothing, trying to see what fit best.

The first month back at school had passed in a blur. They were well into September now, and Adam was starting to feel like he lived in his routine, which was how he lived most comfortably. Even breakfasts where it was just him and Ronan had a sort of well-worn familiarity to them, now. The green mug was always waiting on the counter next to the coffee, because it was the one he used most and Ronan had noticed. Adam felt pleased by this. He also felt scared by this- but then he reminded himself it was just a mug. It probably didn’t mean anything to Ronan, anyways.

Now that school was in full swing, the marketing group was throwing a party. It was not the personal kind, thrown by the members, for the members- but the kind thrown to wrack up sympathy and support from the community. Like last year, it was a function to support the donors of habitat for humanity. This meant Henry Cheng had to wheedle Henry Broadway into convincing his parents to cater the party for a discount. This meant they had to check and make sure that their reservation for the Rotunda was still valid, though it was made on time. It also meant that, as an organizer, Adam had to attend.

Adam Parrish wasn’t really the sort to go to parties. Even these fundraising parties weren’t his idea of a fun evening. They were harmless, really, but they also had no meaning and tended to be bland. Why a group of college students was tasked with throwing a party for wealthy donors a few times a year was beyond Adam- although, he supposed it could appeal to some of his classmates, and it made for decent connections. He still felt strange though, stuffed into a borrowed suit of Gansey’s, milling around with the other CMG members and a group of wealthy, virginia socialites who thought highly of themselves for supporting the poor.

Currently, he was nursing a ginger ale off to the side. Really, all the work had been in organizing the event. Now that he was here, there was nothing to do. A board member from the Charlottesville habitat for humanity center would be making a speech later, a group of smartly dressed waiters from the catering company would bring out food, and all he had to do was watch it unfold. Adam should’ve been enjoying it, but the suit was too tight, and the cacophony of small talk had begun to grate on him. With his deaf ear, it was hard to tell where someone’s voice was coming from, and in this crowd, it had become overwhelming.

After the first half hour, he’d retreated to the edge of the room, but resisted the urge to pull out his phone and cement his status as a wallflower. Gansey and Henry were around somewhere, but they’d disappeared from his line of sight as soon as Gansey was recognized by someone his mother knew, and swept into the fold of suits and cocktail dresses. Henry, he knew, was behind the 80’s synth pop playing gently underneath the chatter. Adam found it incongruous with the rest of the party, but a few of the donors were nodding along to the beat, like they were reminiscing on another time. It made him feel very young.

Adam was so distracted by the music- he couldn’t tell if it was The Cars or Toto playing, it was so soft- that he didn’t notice Tad Carruthers coming up to him until it was too late. There was a hand on his shoulder where there hadn’t been one before, and as soon as Adam felt it, his pulse skyrocketed. He flinched badly, retaining some dignity by swiftly stepping to the right, away from Tad, who looked like he thought he’d run over a wild animal.

“ _God_.” Adam breathed, as soon as he realized it was only Tad. His heart still felt like it was about to jump out of his chest. He’d forgotten that Tad would be here. Enough of the work for the marketing group was done online that they hadn’t seen each other since last spring. “You nearly gave me a heart attack. I didn’t hear you come up.”

Tad looked like he felt genuinely guilty when he apologized. “Oh, Adam, man, I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to sneak up on you.”

“It’s fine.” Adam said, trying to swallow down the last of his panic. He could still hear his pulse in his ear. “It’s just really loud in here.” Tad laughed at that. Adam didn’t think that anything he’d said was funny, and it rubbed him the wrong way, but he just took a sip of his ginger ale. He was glad that he hadn’t spilled any.

Tad was smiling.“Cheng sure knows how to pick em’, huh?”

“What?”

“The music.” Tad clarified. He pointed overhead, probably indicating a speaker of some kind, though Adam doubted there was one on the ceiling. It was probably a general gesture.

“Oh,” Now Adam was almost tempted to smile. Leave it to Henry to find a way to incorporate his favorite music at a marketing event. “80’s. He likes this stuff. Just be glad we’re not listening to Madonna's greatest hits.”

Tad wrinkled his nose in a surprising display of humanity. “God. Imagine this crowd listening to _Like a Virgin_.” Adam was taking another sip of his drink when Tad said this, and it nearly made him laugh. He would’ve, if his mouth hadn’t been full of ginger ale. This conversation wasn’t nearly as painful as their last one had been, but Adam thought it would be hard to surpass that.“Seriously,” Tad went on. “Look at all the fifty- something- year- old ladies, they look like they’re reminiscing on their senior prom and how they should’ve stayed with their high school sweetheart instead of breaking up for whatever blockhead they brought tonight.”

Adam looked at the crowd. Some of the middle aged women _did_ have particularly dreamy, far- off looks on their faces. The corner of his mouth threatened to turn up, and he covered his eyes with a hand. He felt exhausted, and a little delirious. The music and conversation was still coming from all sides, and Tad had been trying desperately to make flirty eye contact since he walked up.

“At least,” Adam remarked. “Henry hasn’t played any Rick Astley.”

“No one can take Rick Astley seriously anymore.” Tad said. Adam still had his hand over his eyes, and he knew he was being impolite, but he somehow couldn’t bring himself to look at the party. “He’s become a staple of the internet.”

“Mhmm.” Adam agreed, finally slipping his hands into the pockets of his borrowed suit jacket instead, just for somewhere to put them. They made small talk for a while, at least twenty minutes, which was longer than he could usually stand Tad. They talked about the music, the food, how much of a pain it was to reserve the rotunda, and Adam was almost starting to get comfortable with the conversation.

“Is your first semester going well?” Tad asked. He was suddenly closer than Adam had remembered him being a moment before, but he resisted the urge to flinch back again. He felt embarrassed, when he thought of his instant reaction from earlier. Tad’s eyes were very large up close, like pale green moons. He really wasn’t terribly unattractive- he was just obnoxious and had no concept of rejection, or personal space. Adam felt a little bad for him.

“Yeah,” Adam said, with some small amount of relief. School was always an easy topic of conversation. “Stats is kicking my ass, but everything else is fine. I’m ahead in most of my classes.”

Tad sighed wistfully. “Man, I wish I could do that. You’re so…” He trailed off, staring intently at Adam in a way that was a little uncomfortable when one half of the party did not reciprocate the feelings of the other half of the party. Tad swallowed. “...like, _smart_.”

Adam shrugged awkwardly. “You’re taking most of the same classes as me, right? I’m not-” He stopped himself. He’d wanted to say _I’m nothing special_ , but he hadn’t wanted to sound self deprecating so he just took another sip of the ginger ale. His glass was almost empty now. “I’m sure you’re perfectly capable, Tad.” Was what he said instead. Tad brightened.

“Don’t you work, though?” Tad asked. “I mean, that’s really impressive, balancing a job and school and this whole thing.” He flailed an arm at the party, but Adam felt hot suddenly, a bright burst of panic igniting him with a single sentence. Of course, his house mates knew he worked but he wasn’t aware that it was common knowledge. He didn’t realize that someone like Tad, who in the scheme of things was just another classmate- an acquaintance, knew about his job. Tad said. “You’re a mechanic, right?”

It felt, suddenly, like everyone in the room knew Adam was borrowing the suit. Like everyone knew he was on a scholarship. Like everyone could tell where he came from- a tiny, dirty, town near the state line. Too small to even be considered a town- it was an “unincorporated community.” Adam couldn’t tell if he wanted to laugh, or throw up. His face felt so hot he was sure it was burning red.

When he finally responded to Tad, his accent tasted thick as mud on his tongue, even as he tried to hide it. “Yeah.”

“That’s really cool, Adam.” Tad reached out to touch the cuff of his sleeve. Adam didn’t jerk away from him, but his touch was alienating. Usually, being touched was grounding, but this time Adam felt farther away than ever. If Tad thought being a mechanic was ‘cool’ the same way he found vegan smoothies ‘cool’, Adam didn’t know how he’d handle this conversation. It was almost too much as it was. Tad’s fingers brushed his wrist bone. He leaned impossibly closer and said: “I don’t know how you do it. Balance all this stuff.”

This annoyed Adam. He felt like he was suffocating in his suit, in this room with Tad inches away from his face. He wanted to say ‘ _I don’t know how I do it either. I just do it.’_ But instead he said. “I think I’m going to get some more ginger ale.”

“Oh.” Tad blinked, owlishly. He still held Adam’s wrist and Adam didn’t quite know how to pull away without being rude. It occurred to Adam, in an abstract, panicky moment of looking at the situation, that possibly Tad had meant to kiss him. He took a step back and collided ungracefully with a high-topped table, meant for party-goers to dispose their empty glasses on.

“Sorry.” Adam said. He faked a polite smile for Tad, and hoped it didn’t look too forced as he slipped into the crowd. Around him, voices blurred together into a clamoring dissonance. The 80’s music was still playing underneath the small talk. Someone brushed against his arm, but when he turned he couldn’t tell who it was. It could’ve been anyone in the flock of suits and dresses. It could’ve been no one. He felt a bead of sweat roll down the back of his neck. He took a deep breath and tried not to choke on the overwhelming urge to flee the scene.

Adam was not, in fact, going to get a ginger ale. He was going to get some air.

✕

A few minutes and a quick exit later, Adam Parrish found the massive steps of the Rotunda uncharacteristically empty, and the lawn unsettlingly quiet. Usually, both were milling with students or tourists, or student tours- but tonight there were only the floodlights on the front steps, and the orange glow of dorm room windows to keep him company. Adam was incredibly tired. It took all the effort he had not to crumple down on the steps with his head in his arms, to try and breathe, just _breathe_ for a few minutes. He leaned against a pillar instead, slipping out of his borrowed suit jacket to hold it in his arms. He felt feverish and terrible.

The air was crisp and light, though not as cool as you’d expect a September night to be. It was a startling contrast to the party inside- crammed with bodies and heat. Being outside was much better. Adam felt like he could really think now, without the din of conversation surrounding him. It made it easier to talk himself out of feeling awful. Tad probably didn’t know that Adam’s job was the only way he made money. No one but Henry and Gansey knew the suit was borrowed, and they didn’t care. He’d never told a single classmate the name of his hometown. No one but his advisor knew where he grew up. He was fine. He was at college. He hadn’t seen his father in two years.

He didn’t know why he felt so bad, and suddenly he was admonishing himself for being self-pitying. He put his suit jacket back on: _Get it together, Adam._ He was supposed to be inside, representing the marketing group and instead, he’d run away from Tad Carruthers to sulk on the steps. He ran a hand through his hair, and sighed deeply, pulling out his phone to text Gansey.

[Adam:] _Hey, sorry if you and Henry are looking for me. I went outside for a minute to get some air._

He went to put his phone in his pocket, but it buzzed insistently before he could get that far. He clicked the home button, and the screen lit up to a new text from Gansey. He always replied within minutes. Adam didn’t know why he had expected anything different.

[Gansey:] _It’s quite alright! If you’re outside could you keep an eye out for Ronan? He’s supposed to be bringing me my glasses._

A furrow appeared between Adam’s eyebrows. Why did Gansey need- his phone buzzed again with another message.

[Gansey:] _My contacts have been bothering me all evening and I’ll admit, I was complaining about it to Ronan and he offered to bring me my wireframes._

Adam chewed his bottom lip. It didn’t seem very Ronan-like go out of the house just to bring Gansey his glasses, but he supposed they hadn’t known each other that long anyways, and he shouldn’t be making judgment. His fingers hovered over the keyboard as he wondered what to say in response. Gansey texted again.

[Gansey:] _Now I feel rather guilty for bothering him, but I can’t complain if I’m getting my glasses :)_

[Adam:] _I’ll keep an eye out for him._

He had been thinking of going back inside, but now the idea was quashed. Adam had an excuse to wait around outside, and he would take it. Even if the excuse was Ronan. Really, he liked Ronan. He probably liked Ronan more than was advisable considering they were supposed to be friends, but he couldn’t seem to reign himself in. He still felt that terrible and instant connection.

Over time, Adam assumed it would fade, but at the present moment- nothing had changed. He was more comfortable around Ronan, yes, but the attraction was still there. He tried not to dwell on it, but in brief moments Adam thought of Ronan’s hands and Ronan’s lips and the shivery way his heart beat in his chest when Ronan stood too close. Like a bird was trying to hurl it’s way out his ribcage. Adam exhaled and closed his eyes, trying to clear his head. It was useless to wonder about things he couldn’t control.

He shoved his hands into his pockets, and sat down on the steps to wait. He was tempted to pull out his phone- maybe read a few articles from _The New Yorker_ , maybe play an app Noah had convinced him to download, maybe check his rarely-used instagram. He decided that any of these things were not worth the cost to his data plan, and instead, sat in the cool September air until Ronan arrived.

It wasn’t a long wait. It seemed that Gansey had some sort of sixth sense about Ronan because only a few minutes after he texted, Ronan appeared at the Rotunda steps, dressed in shadowy black. Adam noticed him immediately, and caught his eye from the top of the steps. Ronan was handsome and strange in the white glow of the floodlights, wearing a jacket that hid the stark lines of his tattoo. He smiled thinly at Adam, mockingly waving a thin, white box in his hands. It had to be the glasses.

Adam didn’t say anything until Ronan climbed up to the top of the steps, and sat down beside him without preamble. He deposited the glasses case into Adam’s hands, and then said: “You look like you just came from someone’s funeral.”

Adam tugged at his necktie. He didn’t think the suit was quite that formal. “It’s really not that fancy.” He passed the glasses back to Ronan, who’s phone buzzed in his pocket. He didn’t check it. “Weren’t you supposed to give these to Gansey?”

“I meant your face, Parrish.” Ronan ignored Adam’s question completely. “It’s like someone just told you that your great aunt contracted cancer.”

Turning a withering look on Ronan, Adam replied. “I don’t have a great aunt.”

Ronan waved a hand in a flippant gesture. “Semantics.”

“You know,” Adam crossed his ankles on the steps in front of him. “You should probably text Gansey.”

Ronan pulled a face like someone had put a container of spoiled milk under his nose, but retrieved his phone from his pocket. It hummed obnoxiously in his hands and Ronan scowled. Adam watched as he sent a quick text to Gansey, and shoved the device back in his pocket, where it buzzed once more.

Adam cocked an eyebrow. “Don’t you need to check that?”

Ronan’s scowl deepened as he pulled out his phone, looked at a message, and shoved it back into his pocket. Adam wondered who was texting him that he’d become so riled up. With a reaction like this, it certainly wasn’t a reply from Gansey. Suddenly, he was deeply curious to who it was, but before he could ask, Ronan pulled out the phone, which had begun ringing, and threw it down the rotunda steps. It hit a step with a loud _crack_ , and bounced to the bottom. Adam gaped. The phone was silent, _dead_. Ronan had killed it.

 _Bzzzzz. Bzzzzzzzz._ The phone rang riotously against the steps. Not dead. Adam didn’t know whether he should be relieved that the phone wasn’t broken, or appalled that Ronan had been so wasteful. It continued to ring on the last step, and Ronan made no move to retrieve it. They sat there for a long moment as the phone buzzed against the steps below. Adam was so distracted by it that he almost didn’t notice his own phone’s muffled chiming through the fabric of his suit. Without a single sign of hesitation, Ronan reached into the pocket of Adam’s jacket and pulled the phone out for him.

It was a strangely intimate gesture, and Adam nearly shivered at the point of contact- Ronan’s hand on his ribs for just a moment, warm through two layers of clothing. How could he possibly pretend to be casual?

Ronan proffered the phone to Adam, and Adam said. “You can’t throw that one.”

Still scowling, Ronan replied. “I wasn’t going to.”

Adam took the phone. There was a text from Gansey that said, in frantic letters, _I’ll be there momentarily_! He had used three exclamation points. Adam shoved his phone into his pocket- the left one, this time, where Ronan couldn’t comfortably reach over and steal it. When he looked over, he found Ronan fiddling with his wristbands, furtively keeping his eyes off of Adam. It would’ve been amusing if he hadn’t thought they were past this point- the moments of awkwardness, the avoidance. Adam wasn’t going to let Ronan off so easily.

They were sitting close enough to each other that it took very little effort for Adam to knock his shoulder into Ronan’s and tell him. “Gansey’s coming.”

“Oh, joy.” Ronan said, sarcasm coloring his voice. It was clear that whatever good mood he’d been in, the phone ringing had killed it. Adam was baffled by his reaction to the phone, and the sheer amount of times it had buzzed with texts in the short period of time they’d been sitting together. Adam would never throw his phone down a set of stairs, but he couldn’t blame Ronan for the annoyance.

He debated the merits of asking who, exactly, was texting Ronan, but he chose to swallow his curiosity, and instead reminded Ronan. “You were the one who decided to bring the glasses. Don’t complain about it now.”

Ronan huffed, and lay down- back on the ground, legs stretched on the steps. It was hard to tell if he was indignant, or just exhausted- either way, it was a clear dismissal of the subject. Adam just watched him, for a few moments, and Ronan just watched the ceiling. For once, the silence that fell over them was comfortable. Adam didn’t mind when Ronan kicked his foot a few minutes later and said. “I fucking hate phones.”

The corner of Adam’s mouth turned up at that. “I guessed as much.”

Ronan was not nearly as amused as Adam was, and again, his features contorted into a scowl. Adam suspected that he would have wrinkle lines from it one day, and the idea only teased the fetal smile on his lips further. Ronan noticed and his eyebrows furrowed. “It’s not funny, Parrish.”

“I’m not laughing!” Adam defended, but as soon as his mouth opened he smiled. He had to school his expression, ducking his head away from Ronan for a moment before telling him: “Throwing your phone down the stairs _is_ an indication that you have something against phones.”

“I should just let that thing’s battery die. Leave it on the steps.” The corner of Ronan’s mouth twitched like this idea entertained him deeply. “Then everyone can stop _bothering_ me.”

Adam shifted to rest his back against one of the pillars, watching Ronan, who was still lying on the cool marble of the rotunda floor. He said: “That sounds a lot like ignoring responsibility.”

“Responsibility,” Ronan echoed, with an eye roll. “Is not my brother pestering me to come to church on time.”

Adam’s interest was stirred again. “Is that who’s texting you?”

“No.” Ronan’s expression darkened, and Adam felt a sudden plummet in the mood. Whoever it was, they certainly weren’t making Ronan happy. Ronan sat up from his position on the ground, immediately picking at his wristbands as he added: “Declan’s almost as bad, though.”

Adam knew very little about the Lynch brothers, knew very little about their home life. He knew only that Ronan was an orphan and a catholic, that he had two brothers- one he loved and one he hated. He had found all this out from Blue and Gansey one Sunday morning where he woke up earlier than usual, just in time to see Ronan grabbing breakfast before church, wearing a stylish, dark suit. It had certainly been enough to make him look up from his bowl of cereal, but he had done his best not to gape, because his housemates were at the table with him. After Ronan left, Adam asked a few questions- some he got answers for. Some, he’d watched Blue and Gansey exchange quick, knowing looks, before deftly switching to another topic.

Their furtive glances gave him the impression that something strange was going on. Adam had noticed already, though. There were things that didn’t add up in the house- a toaster that didn’t plug into the wall, a series of odd electrical devices in the coat closet downstairs that a cursory google search had revealed were EMF readers, a first aid kit in their shared bathroom that was so well stocked, it had to be used on a regular basis, even though Adam had never seen Ronan hurt.  It was peculiar. He couldn’t explain it, not really, but as a creature of logic he always made himself come up with an explanation. The household items were easy to explain, in his mind.   

The toaster was battery powered. Gansey had a secret ghost-hunting hobby. Ronan was paranoid of getting hurt and kept extra bottles of hydrogen peroxide on hand.

With some discomfort, Adam thought of the one thing he couldn’t explain. That dream from a few weeks ago. He couldn’t  remember precisely what it was about, but he remembered the feeling of it afterwards, when he woke up. The feeling of longing for something you couldn’t see or understand. It was haunting, and he’d had a few dreams along the same vein since then, all with that strange, specific feeling afterwards. These had no explanation, no excuse like the toaster or the EMF readers. When he thought of them too long, a shiver ran down his spine and he stopped himself before he could wonder if there was something _more_ going on. Something _other._

Adam eyed Ronan carefully, trying to phrase his question in a way that wouldn’t sound too invasive. “So it’s… a friend of yours that’s texting you so much?” His eyes darted to Ronan’s phone on the steps below. Ronan still had not retrieved it. Adam looked back to Ronan, waiting expectantly for an answer, but Ronan was saved the trouble of a response by Gansey’s sudden arrival.

“Oh thank god.” Gansey said, as soon as he spotted them. The relief in his voice was palpable, and Adam watched as Gansey deflated from his false posturing, the mask he kept on for the party. His suit was slightly rumpled, and his eyes were quite teary. There were twin red rings around the irises of his eyes, obviously irritated by the contacts.

Ronan stood. “ _Jesus_ , Gansey.” Adam was inclined to agree, shuffling up from his spot on the ground, too. “Why didn’t you tell me to come sooner? Your eyes look like absolute shit.”

“Oh, thank you.” Gansey said, genuine, and then, deadpan: “I _do_ enjoy a good pair of burning contacts.”

Ronan passed the glasses case to Gansey, stepping into his space to look at him. He must not have liked what he found, because he frowned at Gansey’s bloodshot eyes, and then stepped back, crossing his arms. “Put those things on man, seeing you all weepy is weird.”

Gansey was not truly crying, but tears had gathered in his eyes. “Trust me.” He said. “That’s what I’ve wanted to do all night.” Taking the glasses, Gansey turned abruptly away from them, pulling his phone out and leaning over it. A moment later, he turned back to them, wireframes on, used contacts in his hand.

Ronan pulled a face. “You’re so weird. Touching your fucking _eye._ ”

Adam was mostly impressed that Gansey had been able to do it without a mirror. He was glad to see that his friend looked more comfortable now, wiping at his eyes with one hand, holding his contacts in the other.

Gansey looked to Adam, and asked, polite as ever. “Do you know if there’s a trash can where I can throw these out?”

“I think there’s one at the bottom of the steps.” And sure enough, when he looked over his shoulder, there was a garbage can. Gansey spotted it too, and then spotted Ronan’s phone near the bottom step, and frowned.

“How did that get there?” He looked to Ronan, who crossed his arms, looking absolutely unrepentant. Gansey took this in and sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You know what? Don’t tell me.”

He walked down the stairs to throw his contacts out, and Adam risked a glance at Ronan. Under the floodlights, his sharp features looked particularly severe. The line of his jaw, his buzzed head, his striking blue eyes- in this light they were a warning sign- _don’t touch_ . Ronan didn’t look angry but he didn’t look very happy, either. Adam wondered again about the phone, and about the tone of Gansey’s voice when he said _“Don’t tell me.”_ He sounded done, and Adam couldn’t tell if it was the party, or Ronan’s antics that had worn him out. It could’ve been both.

Down the stairs, Gansey picked up the phone and climbed back up to Ronan and Adam. He seemed exhausted, much in the same way Adam felt exhausted. That burnt-out tiredness that came from doing too much at once, when you were already drained to begin with. It made Adam wonder how Henry was holding up, back inside. Gansey was close enough now to pass over the phone, and he made to do so, but with ill timing- the phone lit up with another text. Gansey’s eyes flicked down to the screen, and his expression shuttered. He didn’t look angry, or upset- instead, his features melted into a mask of careful, perfect neutrality.

He kept his tone even when Ronan took the phone. “I believe this is for you.”

This was notable, because Adam had seen Gansey slip into that mask many times. It was always when his mother called him about politics, or someone made a comment about Blue’s clothing, or told him good-naturedly that his car was a rust bucket. This was the Gansey who hid his feelings to prevent offending anyone around him. This expression was not one for Ronan, who was as close to Gansey as Adam was, if not closer. Ronan knew that this expression was a lie, just as Adam did. He picked at his leather wristbands, posture suddenly tense as he watched Gansey’s expression.

Ronan uncrossed his arms, putting his hands in his pockets. “I don’t know how that shitsack got my number. I’m not going to call him back.”

Adam was lost. He looked back and forth between Ronan and Gansey but they were watching each other with a sort of wary understanding. Adam was obviously missing some piece of history in this conversation, but with the look on Ronan’s face he wasn’t sure he wanted to ask.

Looking down at his shoes, Gansey replied. “I think I understand why you threw the phone now.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> first of all: super big, thank you and shoutout to @neveronceintoit on tumblr!! she helped me beta this chapter and gave me some fantastic feedback.
> 
> i've had another busy month. sorry, this chapter is a little shorter than usual- i was writing a scene to fit in at the end just to up the word count of the chapter, but it kind of killed the suspenseful mood i was going for at the end so... you guys'll just have to wait for it. 
> 
> i know i responded to someone's comment on the last chapter, promising some adam + ronan + the whole gangsey interaction, but i just haven't gotten there yet :/ the scene they're all together in that i had in mind involves some big plot stuff. maybe it'll come next chapter? not sure yet. it's kinda hard to balance plot and pacing and trust me, i'm dying to get there, but i just don't want this fic to feel rushed. (which, incidentally, is probably why it's going to end up being a monster) 
> 
> i also don't know how much i'll be writing and updating over the summer, because i'm going to be working and i'm also going to have limited access to wifi.... we'll see i guess? i really don't want to abandon this fic, because i have plans (TM) for it... but i don't know what's going to go on in my life the next couple months, so don't hold me to a normal updating schedule. anyways, thank you guys so much for sticking with this fic, and i know it's super annoying, but please, please leave a comment? they make my day, and are super motivating for me to continue on with this fic!! love you guys!! hope you enjoyed the chapter :)


	7. out of luck again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ronan, noah, and blue bond. adam naps. kavinsky ruins family dinner time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so, as you might have guessed by the summary, this is the chapter where kavinsky shows up to stir up some trouble. not everyone is going to like this as a conflict but? it's one of two conflict arcs and it's the smaller of the two so, don't worry about it too much. and for the people who are upset about it: that's rough buddy.

_I think I’m out of luck again_

_Sympathy calling out my name_

_I keep my distance from the sparks and gasoline_

_I start a fire all the same_

\-- gasoline, two door cinema club

 

When Ronan returned from class after a particularly dull lecture, he found Blue and Noah in the middle of a horror movie binge; courtesy of netflix. The two of them were curled onto the couch together, Blue in a pair of purple paisley pants and a crop top with a severely ripped hem, Noah in his ever-present ghostly attire- gently twisting her hair into a pair of short, spiky braids. Tufts of her dark hair stuck out. Ronan couldn’t tell if this was intentional or not, and he couldn’t decide if it looked terrible, or lovably quirky. Her hair, possibly, was too short to pull off braids.

 Ronan greeted the pair with a “Hey maggots, how’s the freak show going?” and settled himself in the nearest arm chair. Usually he wasn’t one for TV, but he wanted a distraction. He wanted his friends. The texts to his phone had finally stopped, after he thought to block Kavinsky’s number, but they were in the same Latin program. He couldn’t avoid Kavinsky forever.

“Oh, we’re fine here.” Blue said airily. Someone on the TV screamed and Ronan looked over just in time to see fake blood spurting all over the camera. “How was the lecture?”

“Boring.” Ronan said, looking away from the screen and back to his friend. Blue had a bowl of popcorn balanced in her lap, and a sketchbook in her hands. He leaned over to steal a handful of the popcorn. Shoveling it into his mouth, Ronan added: “I learned how to say dipshit in Latin.”

Blue grimaced, opening her mouth to protest at his thievery, but before she could speak Noah dropped her hair and put a hand over her mouth. “You already know how to say dipshit in latin. And you two won’t stop bickering. I’m trying to watch.”  This last part was directed to Blue, who had already pushed Noah’s hand off her mouth. It had been more of a gesture than anything else in the first place.

"We bicker.” Ronan said, shrugging. “It’s how our friendship works. Plus, Noah, you don’t even have class. You could watch shitty horror movies all day if you wanted.”

Noah tilted his head, considering this argument for a long moment before saying: “It’s not as fun by myself.”

Suddenly, Ronan felt bad for saying it, because of course Noah only really wanted their company. They were his friends, and half the time they were off in class, or at work, or procrastinating in the library. Ronan knew that Noah was worse without them, worse without Blue’s energy and their jokes to make him human. He drifted through walls and re-enacted his own death, he broke plates in the kitchen and made the tv switch channels without trying. He haunted the house, truly, when he was alone. None of them could blame him for it. Being murdered did that to a person.

Ronan didn’t apologize but he told Noah “Next time you want a horror movie binge we can go to the library and rent the good ones.”

“Netflix ones are shit.” Blue said, dejected in this realization, as if they hadn’t been watching low-budget slasher films for the past two hours.

“Yeah.” Noah agreed. “I’d rather watch _Sharknado_ than this.”

“Oh god,” Ronan said, appalled. “Please no.” They’d watched it once last year, just to make fun of the terrible acting, or the spotty CGI, or the illogical plot. Everyone seemed to enjoy poking fun at it, at least marginally, but it was so terrible that Ronan decided it wasn’t an experience he wanted to repeat.

Blue rolled her eyes. “We’re not watching _Sharknado_.” Noah pouted a little at this, but made no move to reach for the remote, sitting on the coffee table in front of them.

Ronan slumped into his chair. “Finally some sense, Sargent.”

Noah went back to braiding Blue’s hair again, more inky-dark tufts of hair escaping in the process. Neither of them seemed to be focused on the movie anymore, but the room lapsed into a comfortable silence for a moment, aside from the sounds of crime on the television. Blue was working on something in her sketchbook, and when Ronan leaned over to poach more popcorn, he flicked the cover.

“What are you drawing?”

Blue shrugged, but her pencil traced the paper with gentle accuracy, and a small furrow had appeared at her brow. She jerked her chin to indicate the left side of the room. “That corner.”

“Yuck.” Ronan said, grimacing at this. “Perspective practice?”

She tilted her head, looking up from her sketchbook. “Sometimes I forgot you took drawing as your elective freshman year.”

“I know.” Ronan feigned dramatics, putting a mocking hand over his heart. “I do too, until I see perspective practice again.” He pulled another face of false disgust as he looked at the sketchbook. “Gross.” He said, and then: “No offense.” Rolling her eyes again, Blue swatted him with the sketchbook.

Ronan slumped back into his seat, and ate a piece of popcorn. “It’s actually pretty cool, maggot. Nice job.”

“Thanks, man.”Noah, who had finally finished braiding Blue’s hair, leaned back against the arm of the couch and told Ronan: “I miss your artist days.” This was mildly amusing to Ronan because he had never truly had his ‘ _artist days_.’ He took intro to drawing in his first two years at UVA, and then dropped it as soon as his elective requirements were fulfilled. It had come in handy designing a tattoo, but he’d certainly never think to call himself an artist.

“I don’t.” Ronan snorted, crossing his arms over his chest. “They were always making us draw boring still lifes. Apples, or cups and shit.”

“If you kept up with it,” Blue said, not looking up from her sketchbook. “You’d actually get to the fun stuff.”

This annoyed Ronan, if only marginally. His voice was sarcastic as he told her. “You’ve got me, my secret dream is to be an artist.” He let out a long-suffering sigh. “I’m throwing my life away on the classics.”

Noah laughed at this, and Blue scowled. Noah’s laugh sounded so real, so genuine and living, and Blue’s scowl was so intrinsically _Blue_ that suddenly all was balanced with the world. For a moment as Ronan looked at his friends, he felt a spark of furious joy. He loved them like he loved little else on this earth. Gansey, Noah, Blue.. and even Henry. He loved them like he loved The Barns, like he loved driving his car, and a little like he loved Matthew. He didn’t know what his life would be like without them. Would he be living in a dorm room now? Would his best friend be Kavinsky? Would he have killed himself already? Would he have ever met Adam?

His love was a vulnerability, and the brief moments where it consumed him were terrifying. Ronan leaned back in the chair again, hoping his casual posture would conceal any shift in demeanour, but Noah had started smiling widely, and Blue was taking him in with suspicion.

Ronan rolled his eyes, and tried to sound bored. It was useless, anyways. They all knew that Noah could see right through him. “What are you looking at, Caspar.”

Noah’s smile didn’t falter at the paltry nickname, but Blue gave Ronan a look, and said. “Don’t you think ghost jokes are in poor taste?”

“Ghost jokes,” Ronan smiled, “are always in style when your best friend is a ghost.” He lifted a hand for a high five from Noah, and suddenly, it was as if Noah had been sitting on the arm of his chair the whole time. Like he’d never been on the couch by Blue. He didn’t flinch when Noah high fived him, palm cold against Ronan’s, but he hissed out a “Shit, man, warn us first before you do this creepy stuff.”

Noah shrugged, his small, eflin mouth curved into a mischievous smile. “But this is the best part of being dead.”

“What,” Ronan asked. “Scaring the shit out of us? Or knowing all of our secrets.”

He pulled a face. “The secrets part is boring. They’re not even secrets.” He looked at Ronan, his expression unusually serious. “You’re just not looking at the evidence.”

For some reason, Ronan got the distinct impression that Noah was referring to the Adam situation, and he felt the back of his neck prickling with heat. His voice came out rougher than expected when he said. “What fucking _evidence?_ ”

Blue sat up straighter on the couch. “Yeah, what evidence, Ronan?” Ronan knew she had no idea what Noah was talking about, unless Adam had decided to tell everyone they’d slept together without consulting him. Ronan found this highly unlikely, and he found Blue’s sudden interest highly annoying.

Noah looked like he was about to facepalm, but he just touched the smudgy side of his face, where his cheekbone was caved in, and gave a small, crooked smile. “You’re hopeless. Messing with you is way more fun than giving you advice.”

“Thanks, man.” Ronan knew sarcasm wasn’t a particularly kind coping mechanism, but he used it anyways. “I really appreciate the thought.”

“I can’t make decisions for you.” Noah said, his expression suddenly complicated. “You have to choose what you want yourself.” and then, without preamble, he disappeared.

 

✕

It was a Friday evening. Golden sunlight leaked in through the skylight in Adam’s room. He had an arm flung over his eyes, and an abandoned notebook resting on his stomach. He’d given up on homework- he’d already done most of the assignment ahead of time, anyways- electing to take a nap instead. The chance for a nap was rare, but appreciated by Adam. Usually, his responsibilities nagged at him: the alternator he’d promised to fix at work, the overflowing laundry hamper in the corner of his room, the spreadsheet he had to fill out for the marketing group. Today, his exhaustion was stronger. It made a home in his bones, anchored him to the mattress where he lay. Adam rolled over onto his side, and drifted in and out of consciousness.

Time was irrelevant. He somehow felt the sensation of leaves pressing close to glass, more than saw it. Adam’s eyelids fluttered sleepily. The blanket beneath him was moss, was grass, was damp with dew or blood. A drop of water ran backwards up a leaf but there was something wrong about it, the texture too syrupy, the clarity of it too crystalline. Someone knocked on his door, and Adam startled awake. His room was grey now- somehow as he slept, dusk had fallen.

The knocking on the door sounded again. “Parrish, you asshole, are you awake?”

It was Ronan. Adam replied, voice scratchy. “I’m up. What do you want?” He was not, in fact, up. He was still lying on his shitty mattress, running a finger over the fabric of the blanket, trying to remember why it felt wrong all of a sudden. He sat up, checked his phone. Half an hour had passed. Ronan was quiet in the hall, but the floorboards by Adam’s door creaked.

“Team meeting downstairs. We’re going out for dinner. Everyone’s coming except Noah. And you-” Ronan added through the door. “If you bail on us.”

“I’ll be down in a second.” Adam almost laughed at the phrase ‘team meeting’, but when he thought about it he couldn’t come up with something better to call the residents of the green house. The word ‘ _family_ ’ was too fragile to be comfortable, but team sounded almost right.

“We’ll be in the kitchen.” Ronan replied, and Adam heard his retreat in the creaking of the floorboards, and then the stairs. He wondered how he managed to get used to the sounds of Ronan’s electronica playing next door, or his restless pacing in the hall, or his clattering in the bathroom- always digging through the medicine cabinet. He could sleep through it now, when he hadn’t been able to a month ago.

Adam turned on a light in his room, straightened to examine how wrinkled his clothing had gotten in sleep, and grabbed his wallet and keys from his desk. He heard Henry’s voice carrying up the stairs as he joked (presumably with Blue and Gansey), smelled the sweet, musty scent of decaying leaves drifting in through his window. He didn’t remember opening it. His shoes were lined up neatly next to the door to his room, and as he tied the laces on his sneakers, he had the distinct feeling that he was forgetting something. It wasn’t the troublesome feeling that you’d forgotten something you previously remembered, but that slow slipping feeling when you woke up from a dream, losing details until there was nothing left.

He blinked, pressed his hands to his eyes, and shook himself. He wasn’t forgetting anything, there wasn’t something wrong with him, things would be fine.

Gansey called up the stairs: “Adam, are you coming?”

Adam startled again, reached for a scratchy wool sweater in case it got cold, and exited the room with the efficiency of someone being chased. Downstairs in the kitchen, Ronan lounged in one of the wooden chairs, somehow managing to make even sitting look disreputable. Blue had her feet on his lap, clad in her thick soled boots. They nearly matched Ronan’s, and this amused Adam, but he wouldn’t point it out- unwilling to offend either of them. Henry was sitting on the countertop, paging through a food magazine he’d picked up from god knows where, and Gansey took the remaining chair at the table.

His gaze went straight to Adam when he entered the room, and his countenance brightened. “Adam! Perfect, now we can all go.”

“Where are we going?” Adam looked to Blue, who was dressed in a fairly typical Blue get up of a dress that looked like a craft store had thrown up on it, and crochet tights. This meant they were going somewhere casual- probably- and he didn’t have to worry about his own appearance. It was always hard to judge the formality of an event when you were friends with Gansey or Henry, who always looked like they’d stepped from the pages of a J.crew catalogue.

"We,” Henry announced. “Are going out for Hibachi.”

Blue added: “Because Lynch wants to see something get set on fire.” And Ronan shoved her feet off his lap.

He sneered: “Thanks, Maggot.” but it lacked true venom he was capable of, and Adam found the corner of his mouth lifting as he watched the exchange.

“Oh come on,” Blue teased, crossing her arms over her chest. “We all know your favorite part is when the onions get set on fire.”

“Yeah, but that’s not why we’re going,” Ronan argued. “We’re going because we’re sick of eating Pizza all the time.”

“Exactly!” Gansey cut in. He seemed like he was used to their specific brand of argument by now, but didn’t want to watch it progress any further. “So, if everyone’s ready, we could all get in the pig now?”

Ronan sat up straighter in his chair. “Sorry, Dick. Five people was enough one time. My legs are too long for that hell pit of a backseat.” Adam did not doubt this. He’d been in the back of the pig, once, and found it uncomfortable to jam his legs into the limited space. He’d spent the entire time with his knees pressed into the back of the seat in front of him. Ronan was taller, though, and most of his height seemed to be in his legs. Adam could easily understand why he was bailing on the camaro.

Ronan looked at Adam expectantly. “You coming with me, Parrish, or are you tagging along in the pumpkin machine?”

Adam just blinked at Ronan. This invitation was far from anticipated, and though he’d seen Ronan’s slick, charcoal grey BMW parked on the street many times, he’d never expected to ride in it. Gansey spluttered at this: “ _Ronan_ that car is a classic! It’s not- It’s not to be called the _pumpkin machine_.”

“Sure, if you’ve got room.” Adam tried not to sound cagey or interested in the slightest, ignoring Gansey in favor of answering the question.

Ronan snickered. “I’ve got more room than the pumpkin machine.”

“Please don’t call it that.” Gansey’s expression was pained. Blue put a comforting hand on his shoulder, and told him:

“You know, it _is_ the color of a pumpkin. He’s not wrong.”

Ronan laughed again at this, easily delighted, a smile softening his sharp features. Adam shouldn’t have been watching, shouldn't have had his eyes focused this intently on Ronan but something about that smile, that _laugh_ \- it pulled at his chest. He felt his own smile burning up his mouth, and when Ronan turned to look at him, he caught Adam staring. _Don’t look away._ He told himself. _Don’t act like a middle schooler with a crush._ Ronan’s eyes were alight. Adam didn’t think he’d ever seen him this happy, and from such a simple thing. He looked away first and cursed himself for it, but his ears felt hot, and he could guess that they had turned pink without looking in a mirror.

“Well,” Henry said. “ _I’m_ going in the glorious pumpkin machine.” Gansey sighed, but his mouth quirked up at Henry. Ronan cackled.

Blue rolled her eyes at all of them and said: “Let’s get this show on the road.”

✕

The interior of Ronan’s car was comfortable and time worn, the seams of the leather seats frayed with use. It smelled like gasoline and something else that Adam couldn’t define, but was embarrassed to realize he associated with Ronan.

From the passenger seat, Adam snuck a glance at the driver. Ronan wore a leather jacket that Adam found frustratingly attractive on him, and played a homemade CD full of his favorite electronica. He wanted to hate the music, but a small part of him could see the appeal, and really he didn’t mind. Ronan bobbed his head slightly to the mindless beat, and Adam did his best to watch him without being caught at it. A part of him ached. He remembered Ronan in the kitchen, Ronan at the party, Ronan the day he moved in.

In his head, Ronan was unfathomable. Adam could use logic for everything, could dissect his emotions and break them down into thoughts and useless reassurances, but he couldn’t do that with Ronan. There was no logic to him, no code to explain his actions. Adam felt like he was fumbling in the dark, reaching for a light switch that might not exist. Usually, not knowing something worried Adam, but in this case Ronan’s unpredictability only drew him closer, had him waiting with baited breath.

The drive to the restaurant was fairly short, but in a part of town Adam hadn’t paid much attention to. It was strip malls and organic grocery stores, car dealerships and home improvement shops. It was not impressive, but it was still a far cry from Adam’s home town. When they pulled up to the restaurant, The Pig was already parked in the lot- impudently orange and empty of it’s passengers. They must have gone inside already to get a table. Ronan parked next to the camaro, and drummed his fingers absently against the plastic console between them. Adam watched the movement, observed the wristbands knotted tightly around his wrist, noticed the teeth marks on the leather.

Ronan turned to look at him and Adam glanced away just in time. Ronan was still drumming his fingers across the console. He said: “Ready to go in after the three musketeers?”

Adam looked over at Ronan, he hadn’t notice it earlier, but now at such close range he could tell Ronan had showered and shaved. He could smell the scent of Ronan’s expensive body wash clinging to his skin, and suddenly the car felt small, intimate. He forced himself not to swallow. “If they’re the musketeers, what does that make us?”

“Fuck if I know.” Ronan said, taking Adam’s answer as confirmation and opening the car door. “As long as we’re not Humpty Dumpty.”

Adam climbed out as well, and replied. “I don’t think both of us could be humpty dumpty at the same time.”

They stood in the parking lot, dusty and sunbleached over time. Cars screamed past them on the road behind, and if you looked far into the distance, you could see the blue swell of the mountains hanging like a benevolent shadow. Ronan strode past the car, past Adam, and clicked a button on the key to lock it. “Then that duty falls to you, Parrish.”

Adam watched his retreating back for a moment, allowed himself to be mildly annoyed by Ronan’s antics, and then took a few quick strides to catch up with Ronan, who kept a leisurely pace. The door to the restaurant was low, and Adam noticed Ronan ducked his head to avoid knocking it on the entrance. Once they got inside, it took little effort to find Henry, Blue, and Gansey. Most of the tables were occupied by multiple parties- families with children, young couples, or groups from the fraternities at UVA. Adam’s friends however, were at an empty table, and when Ronan neatly avoided a few servers to join the group at the table, Gansey said: “How lucky are we? Usually this place is packed!”

Ronan said. “So lucky.” His voice was mocking but when he sat, his posture was relaxed, legs sprawling under the table, arms hanging at his side. He wasn’t truly upset to be there, if anything, he looked happy. The corner of his mouth turned up as he knocked shoulders with Blue in greeting. They sat side by side, an interesting contrast with Ronan’s height and her petite frame. This left little choice for Adam- Henry and Gansey sat at the end of the table, Blue next to Gansey, Ronan next to Blue.

He sat down next to Ronan, and tried not to overthink it. The seats were all pressed closely together, despite the fact that the other half of the table was empty. Adam thought the staff must have been planning to seat multiple parties at their table, around the giant griddle at the center of it. He took his napkin from his place setting, and put it in his lap. If he looked down, he could see Ronan drumming his fingers on his thigh.

Gansey opened a menu and asked: “What are you all thinking of getting?”

Adam hadn’t looked yet, but he hoped it wouldn’t be too expensive. He usually only allowed himself to put a small fraction of his earnings towards eating out, but he reasoned with himself that if it _was_ expensive, he'd just work overtime later in the weekend. He opened the menu, and was relieved to find it reasonably priced.

Blue paged through Gansey’s menu, her chipped nail polish bright against the laminated paper. She frowned at it. “I don’t know, chicken maybe?”

Henry had opened his, and was flipping through it carefully. He shrugged, flippant: “They have good filet here.”

Blue looked at the price, and shook her head. “I’m sticking with chicken.” Privately, Adam agreed. If he was going to buy an expensive meal, it wouldn’t be here. As Blue and Gansey decided what to order, he snuck a glance at Ronan, who was still tapping his fingertips against his leg, menu unopened. Henry seemed absorbed in the other conversation, so Adam didn’t feel bad to talk to Ronan.

Adam turned, angling himself toward the other young man, but kept his voice low. He didn’t know why- it wasn’t like he was asking anything private, he just wanted to talk to him. “Do you already know what you’re ordering?”

Ronan’s response was just as quiet as Adam’s question had been, leaning in to Adam’s right side. “Chicken. Same as Sargent.” His fingers were still drumming restlessly, but he moved his other arm to the table, fiddling with the silverware and effectively blocking them off from the others. Adam wondered if it was conscious or not.

“Ah,” Adam said, nodding sagely. He leaned closer to whisper to Ronan: “Me too. Maybe that makes us the musketeers instead of Henry, Blue and Gansey.”

Ronan smiled, thin and sharp and alluring. He said: “Get ready to wear some tights then, Parrish.” This was punctuated by a suggestive eyebrow raise that startled a choked laugh out of Adam.

“Shit.” Adam was still trying to swallow down his laughter, shaking his head. “No way in hell.”

Blue peered around Ronan’s shoulder to glance at the two of them, like Adam’s laughter had suddenly caused her to pay attention to their conversation. One eyebrow was arched in a curious expression, eyes sharply interested. She asked: “What are you two talking about?”

“Oh nothing,” Ronan said, setting down the fork he’d been playing with. “Just Parrish’s halloween costume.” He looked at Adam when he said this, and underneath the table their legs knocked together. The combination of Ronan’s smile and their legs pressed tightly against each other was enough to make Adam’s chest twist.

"You asshole.” Adam said, but he could feel his mouth smiling without his permission. Ronan just shrugged at this accusation, a ‘ _what can I say_ ’ gesture, and leaned back in his chair. Blue opened her mouth like she was about to demand some sort of clarification, but at that exact moment, a waiter and a chef appeared by the table. The waiter took their orders, and the chef began a showy display of oiling the griddle.

The previous conversation was quickly abandoned in favor of vocal admiration of the chef’s skills from Gansey and Henry. Adam just watched, and tried to ignore Ronan’s leg pressed against him. _At least,_ he comforted himself, _we’re not sitting in a booth._ Because that would be a thousand times worse- they’d have to be hip to hip and thigh to thigh, shoulders brushing, ankles knocking. Even the idea of that much contact was enough to make Adam feel overwhelmed and exhilarated. He looked over at Ronan, and thankfully Ronan’s eyes were on the grill. Adam had always been very good at watching without being watched himself.

Gansey and Blue were talking about something that Adam could keep up with if he was truly interested, and Henry was interjecting every few minutes, but Ronan added nothing to the conversation and so Adam was content to listen as well. A part of him was still tired from his nap, and with the low chatter of his friend’s conversation, Adam felt lulled into a state of easy calm. There was no confusing interaction with Ronan to dissect- not that it would get him anywhere- no Tad to ask him about work, no immediate homework to be done. It was just his friends. It was just Ronan’s knee pressed into his under the table. Just the pleasant smell of rice and eggs and onions cooking on a griddle somewhere.

Adam looked down. Ronan was still drumming his fingers on his thigh and this nearly made Adam smile, but then his fingers stilled, and Blue and Gansey went quiet. Adam thought he heard a chair scraping but with his ear, he couldn't tell where it came from, and when he looked up Ronan’s eyes were trained on something directly behind him. He was tilted almost sideways towards his friends, his deaf ear facing away from them, but when he turned it was still a surprise to see someone sitting in the chair next to him.

The young man in the chair beside him was thin and leggy as a jackal, and though he wore a lurid grin, his skin had a dull pallor, purple-half moons stamped under his eyes. For only an instant, Adam felt sympathetic. He knew how it felt to have those circles under his eyes, he’d had them, too, many nights in his high school years, and sometimes even now. This was ruined the minute the other man opened his mouth, the minute his grin turned poisonous.

“So, Lynch,” He drawled, his eyes set on Ronan, flicking briefly over to Adam. “You’re fucking this hick now?”

Adam froze over instantaneously, but he refused to flinch back, even as the man with the tired eyes looked him up and down like a piece of meat. He felt wary, and uncomfortable- quickly unnerved by the stranger. His words had been like a bucket of ice water dumped over his head. Adam had no clue who this young man was, how he knew where he was from, what his connection to Ronan was. It made him feel as if he’d been singed by hot coals. Adam couldn’t see Ronan’s expression behind him, but felt Ronan’s leg press harder against his. With the tension at the table, the annoyance and the suspicion roiling inside him, the touch was amplified. Ronan’s ankle snuck against his under the table, bone pressed to bone, painful in its intensity. It was hard to tell if Ronan was giving reassurance, or seeking it, but it grounded Adam all the same.

There were a few other young men with the first man, who snickered at their seats. One of them was tall and pale with freckles, one of them was dark with dyed hair and a burning gaze. The other two were hanging off each other in a familiar way that almost stabbed Adam with jealously, for that level of closeness. He had barely noticed them, his attention eclipsed by the stranger at first, but now he had a vague sense of recognition. As they leered at his friends, he realized that they were students, too.

“Fuck off, Kavinsky.” Ronan’s voice turned acidic, dripping venom. Adam finally turned back to look at him. His blue eyes were fiercely alive, his hands clenched into fists under the table. He was as sharp as Adam had ever seen him, as vicious as a puncture wound bleeding onto concrete. “This has nothing to do with you.”

Kavinsky- that was the man’s name- pouted mockingly. He mimed wiping a tear from his eye. “Boo hoo, I’m hurt. I come all this way and you don’t even want to chat? Too busy with your new toy?” He grinned at Adam, but it was a blank sort of look, like he didn’t consider him a person, but a _thing._ He spoke again, trying to lean into Adam’s space to get to Ronan. Adam could feel his breath on his cheek, and resisted the urge to flinch back. “Did you dream this one or pick him off the street?”

Half of the sentence was nonsensical, but his closeness was enough to push Adam over the edge. His annoyance flared, frustration boiling over inside him. His voice came out wintery and detached as he leveled a stare at Kavinsky. “Stop this. You don’t even know me, and Ronan obviously doesn't want you here.” He looked at the young man, and found that he wasn’t afraid, despite the threat underlying Kavinsky’s posture. The way he held himself, the curve of his arms crossed over his chest- he was waiting for a fight. Adam said: “Just take your friends and leave.”

Kavinsky's expression darkened by a fraction, but then his eyebrows rose towards his hairline, and he let out a low whistle. “I guess we know who's on top, then.” One of his friends laughed, and the other eyed Adam and Ronan appreciatively. It was distinctly uncomfortable, and out of nowhere, Adam felt shame gnawing in the pit of his stomach. He tried to swallow it down, but he thought back to the night he met Ronan. How could any of them have known? Was it obvious he still wanted Ronan that way?

Ronan practically growled, leaning forward and bracing his hands on the table. “Fuck. _Off._ ”

Adam glanced at their friends. Henry was looking at the table, slowly folding and refolding a disposable napkin. Blue looked pissed, glaring at the other boys, her arms crossed over her chest. Gansey had a hand on one of her shoulders, like she was ready to launch herself at them, and a part of Adam didn’t doubt it. Gansey himself looked like he was going to be ill. Somehow, the chef at the table was still cooking their food, but he was eyeing Kavinsky, too. Adam wondered, suddenly, if they were going to be kicked out for this.

“Ronan,” Gansey warned. “I think we should go.” His gaze flicked over to Kavinsky and his cronies, distrust and dislike reflecting in his hazel eyes.

Kavinsky grinned wolfishly. “But the party's just getting started, Dick.”

“What do you _want_ , K?” Ronan cut in.

Kavinsky grinned with a shark’s smile, and without preamble, leaned forward to hiss something into Adam’s ear. The words were lost to his left side, only the feeling of Kavinsky’s breath on his skin remained-  like a hot cloud at his neck, like a chemical burn because he wasn't prepared. This time, Adam flinched back. He stared at Kavinsky. Judging by the smirk on his face, he’d said something thoroughly suggestive, but Adam would never know what it was. He pressed his lips into a thin line, glanced at Ronan, and back at Kavinsky.

Ronan watched this, and went rigid. To Kavinsky, he gritted out: “What did you say  to him?”

Kavinsky put his arms behind his head, and leaned back in his chair like this was his resting state. He was sprawled languid and unselfconscious. Adam hated it, suddenly hated that he could afford to be so careless. Kavinsky drawled, unhurried. Ronan watched him, tense as a trap about to spring. “I was just telling him how you like it, Lynch.” He crossed and uncrossed his legs. “Wouldn’t want you to be disappointed.”

It was at this, of all things, that had Ronan lurching from his chair. He stood, hurtling around Adam for Kavinsky. Suddenly, all the attention in the room had turned, had changed. No one was watching any of the chefs cook at their table, no one was listening to the hiss of oil on the griddle. All eyes were on Ronan as he grabbed Kavinsky from his seat, and yanked the other man up by the wrist. Mothers hushed children, told them to look the other way. Servers hovered anxiously exchanging glances between each other, waiting to see if they had to swoop in to diffuse the situation. Gansey’s knuckles were white  and pink on the table before him. Adam heard the oceanic rush of blood in one of his ears.

He felt sick. The action was so swift, so practiced, Ronan’s hand around Kavinsky’s wrist, holding the other man tight enough that it had to hurt. He reminded himself that this was Ronan, but he wasn’t sure if it made the violence of the action better, or worse.

 

✕

Ronan held Kavinsky’s arm in a death grip. He didn’t want him here by any stretch, but he didn’t want him to get away, either. Ronan wanted to know why he was here, what he’d said to Adam, how he knew that they’d slept together. He also wanted to punch Kavinsky’s lights out, but it wasn’t the right time, wasn’t the right place. Even without the violence simmering in the tense air between them, the servers were watching them furtively, waiting to call a manager at any second.

Ronan didn’t want to ruin it. He wanted to enjoy a dinner out with his friends, as much as he could enjoy anything these days, but Kavinsky had waltzed in and sent his illusion of contentment crashing down around him. He was left only with an old rival, an old spark, an old friend- had they ever really been friends? And the taste of ash thick in his mouth. His skin felt hot with the anger writhing under his skin.

He held onto Kavinsky’s wrist tightly, and hissed at the other man. “What the _fuck_ are you doing here?”

K’s answering smile was a sickly, spreading thing on his face. It was not kind. It was not happy. He said: “I just wanted to check up on you, Lynch.”

This was a lie, and they both knew it. Ronan knew Kavinsky wanted more from him, Kavinsky wanted Ronan to go backwards in time, slip into street racing and drug-fed dreams. This was plain on his face, and it was not something Ronan wanted for himself. He edged warily closer to the other boy, keeping his voice low. He was still furious, with himself and Kavinsky, but he didn’t want their interaction broadcasted to his friends. Kavinsky talking with Adam was bad enough as it was.

Ronan squeezed his wrist. “What did you say to him.”

“Ouch.” Kavinsky’s smile widened. “Touchy.”

“Tell me.” Ronan said, his frustration simmering within him. He felt the weight of his friends eyes on him, but he refused to shrink under it, refused to let Kavinsky get away with this intrusion.

“He doesn’t know you can dream, does he.” Kavinsky avoided the question, and Ronan visibly tensed at the accusation. No, Adam did not know that Ronan could pull things out of his dreams, and Ronan would like to keep it that way. It was almost as if Kavinsky could read this truth on Ronan’s face, because he laughed- a goblin’s cackle. “Oh, that makes things interesting. Have you woken up with any corpses after fucking him? Have you brought back dream blood smeared all over yourself?”

Ronan felt incredibly transparent, because immediately, Kavinsky had honed in on what he was afraid of. It surged in him like a sick tide, a bitter mix of hurt and anger. He growled: “Fuck you.” And Kavinsky laughed again.

“If you insist.”

Ronan dropped Kavinsky’s wrist, unable to stand the sensation of his hands on K’s skin all of a sudden. He wanted to correct Kavinsky and say that he and Adam weren’t sleeping together, because they weren’t now, but his mouth was dry. He tried to keep his voice low, but the fury of it raised his voice: “How did you even find out about me and Adam?”

Somehow, the table behind them went even quieter at this, which meant Ronan hadn’t kept his voice low enough. He looked away from Kavinsky to his friends, only for a second, but it was more than enough. Adam’s gaze dropped from Ronan like he’d been burned- down to his hands in his lap, the table, anything but Ronan. Blue’s own righteous anger was forgotten in favor of gaping at the pair of them, and Gansey’s eyes flicked back and forth at the two of them like he was re-analyzing every moment they’d ever spoken. Henry looked unperturbed, which was surprising, but Henry somehow kept his cool in the strangest of moments. Ronan looked at Adam again, who was still conspicuously avoiding eye contact. The tips of his ears were dark pink.

Kavinsky spoke again, grinning, dragging Ronan’s attention away from the others. “I’m in your head, man.” He leaned into Ronan’s space, his face close enough that Ronan could see the black of his pupils eating up his irises. This meant Kavinsky must be high, but Ronan had already assumed as much. “I just guessed.”

Ronan could feel his face burning with shame, with fury at himself. Kavinsky hadn’t really known anything. He didn’t know that Ronan liked Adam, that they’d slept together, he just knew Ronan. And Ronan had read into all this like Kavinsky known somehow- like he was some sort of prophet. He abruptly hated himself for this mistake, hated himself for ripping this secret open like a set of stitches, bleeding where everyone could see it.

He dropped his voice even quieter, and shoved Kavinsky away. “Get out of here. I don’t want to see you again.”

But Kavinsky just smiled, cool and collected and venomous. “I don’t come where they don’t call me, Lynch.”

“Fuck off.” Ronan spat. He felt at once defeated and angrier than he’d been before. The second secret he kept closest to himself was out on display to his friends because of himself, because of Kavinsky, and it felt a little bit like the world was ending.

Kavinsky’s smile dropped, and he told Ronan: “You should give me what I want this time.” Ronan watched his eyes flicker over to Adam, and linger there. Kavinsky continued: “I know your secrets, and he doesn’t.” Ronan felt a chill in his veins like suddenly his blood had been swapped for ice water, felt his stomach bottom out. He didn’t like where this was heading. “You wouldn’t want him to find out about any of your monsters, would you?”

And this, of course, was the power play, and Ronan had backed himself right into it. He tried to stave off the panic lurching in his chest by telling K: “He won’t believe you.”

“Maybe not.” Kavinsky picked idly at the ragged cuticles of his nails, not seeming to care that blood welled as he ripped at them. “But princess, it’s your loss if he does.”

Ronan hated that Kavinsky had this on him. Hated that in some ways he knew Ronan better than any of his friends did. Ronan tried to think of a way out of this. He could tell Adam himself, he knew he could, but the thought terrified him. He wasn’t sure if they knew each other well enough for him to truly share this part of himself. For all the ways his dreaming was a gift, it was simultaneously a weapon. He was afraid to be that vulnerable to someone again.

Crossing his arms over his chest, Ronan asked : “What do you want?” This was the second time he’d asked that question, and this time, it was a concession instead of challenge. This time, the anger inside him had boiled down to a burning fear that charred his insides. This time, he was giving in and he hated it.

Kavinsky seemed to sense this, and when he smiled, Ronan nearly expected his teeth to be bloody, but they were only crooked and white. “There’s a party on Halloween. You should come.”

Ronan felt a wave of cold dread roll down his spine before curling in his stomach, where it left him antsy and uncomfortable. He only nodded at Kavinsky, tried not to wonder what would happen. He avoided looking at his friends- unsure how much of this conversation they’d heard. Ronan suspected that if they knew he was considering attending any party thrown by K, they’d all be upset by it, or in Gansey’s case- dissapointed. Halloween was nearly a full month away, though. Why would Kavinsky be inviting him now?

Seeing his nod of confirmation, Kavinsky’s smile grew a sliver wider. Ronan felt like he’d accepted an invitation to a pit vipers nest. Kavinsky clapped Ronan on the shoulder, and slithered past him, back towards his friends. He’d gotten what he wanted, and now he was finished. Kavinsky looked over his shoulder and told Ronan: “See you on the streets.”

Ronan sincerely hoped not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i've had a busy little while the past (?) month, two months? i honestly can't remember when i last updated, whoops. i wish i had more free time this summer to write, but i'm working and honestly i'm using most of my time off to nap. i'm going to do my best to try and whip out another update between now and august, but we'll see! in the meantime i hope you enjoy this one because it's extra long and i worked hard on it. (p.s: i have limited wifi access until august 19th, so i might not get to reply to comments on this fic quickly, but it doesn't mean i'm ignoring them! each comment fills my heart with a little burst of joy<3) (also writing this chap made me miss VA bc i'm not home right now lmao sad)


	8. i miss when we first met

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> two fights and a shower scene.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ten points to whoever can find the Margaret Atwood reference I unsubtly hid in this chapter! i love her poetry

_Oh I miss when we first met_

_He didn't know me yet_

 -- jobless monday, mitski

 The drive back from the restaurant was certainly uncomfortable. Adam opted to cram himself into the back seat of the camaro, rather than ride back with Ronan. It wasn’t that he was upset with Ronan- not really, it was just that all of their friends knew now. Which meant they had to confront the situation all over again, and this time explain it to the group. Adam was not looking forward to that. Luckily, however, Blue and Gansey were too busy fretting over Kavinsky to grill Adam. He only caught snatches of the conversation over the radio playing and his own pressing anxieties. _He’s not going to try and make Ronan_ ━ _he was in rehab_ ━ _if they start racing again_ ━ _does he still have a scar from that?_

Henry was also in the back seat, but he spent the ride looking at his phone- brows straight, shoulders tense. His exterior proved relatively calm, but Adam knew how to read body language. Whoever Kavinsky was, whatever he meant to Ronan- he’d rattled all of them, Adam included. He couldn’t stop seeing the way Kavinsky’s lips moved whenever he said something. Couldn’t stop hearing the vulgar lilt to his voice. _Did you dream this one, or pick him off the street?_ The air conditioning blasted from every crevice in the camaro, almost frosty. Adam suspected it only had two settings- on and broken. His knees were jammed into the back of Gansey’s seat, and whenever Gansey moved, he felt the other man’s spine pressing into his kneecaps through the decrepit leather.

The car ride was not comfortable for either of them.

Adam watched as the scenery blurred past the moving vehicle- trees still summer-green even in september, traffic lights and tail lights and streetlights beginning to glow in the dusk, a pair of ravens looming on a telephone wire. He thought of Ronan’s bird, and he thought of Ronan, and he wondered if the tenderness he showed Chainsaw applied to anything else in the world. Adam had caught him stroking the fine feathers by her beak once, late at night on his way to the bathroom. It had been a slow, unselfconscious gesture. Gentle and kind. Adam marveled at the idea of it, to be loved by someone who seemingly held contempt for all else.

_So Lynch, are you fucking this hick now?_

He rested his head against the window, and closed his eyes.

 

✕

When they got back to the house, Ronan was only just pulling into one of the spots on the street. Adam watched as he parked the BMW- had he only rode in the passenger seat an hour ago? It felt like a lifetime had passed since then. It felt like everything had been tilted on its side. Ronan snapped open the door to the car, and Adam couldn’t see his face, but he watched as Ronan’s hand pulled the handle again, and slammed the door shut. This was perplexing, but then the door opened again- this time Ronan climbed out before shutting the door with intense ferocity. He opened it one more time only to slam it shut, and then stormed up to the porch without locking the car doors. Adam never saw his face, and could only judge Ronan’s emotions by the tense line of his jacket falling over his shoulders, and the sharp, dark twists of his tattoo crawling onto his neck.

Adam suddenly understood that Ronan was angry- in a shapeless way that spilled out into his actions. Adam knew he’d been angry at the restaurant, and could see that he’d gotten hurt, too. It was hard to tell, however, if Kavinsky had done it- or if Ronan had done it to himself. It was plain to anyone with a working set of senses that there was some sort of history between them, heavy and dark. It made Adam uncomfortable to watch them together. He’d seen the way Kavinsky had fit into Ronan- like a hook into an eye.

A fish hook. An open eye.

The pig idled on the curb. By now, Ronan had thrown himself into a rocking chair on the front porch and was glaring at the orange vehicle, while Blue and Gansey exchanged tense glances in the front seat. They had seen his display getting out of the BMW as well, and obviously they were more familiar with what it meant than Adam. Henry had abandoned his phone, and was using his seatbelt as a very uncomfortable pillow. His expression remained neutral, but his eyes were keen, trained on the pair in the front seat. Sometimes, with Henry’s wild humor and upbeat attitude, Adam forgot how incredibly smart the other young man was. Calculating- but in a way that was different from Adam. Bold- but without the arrogance of some of their peers. Funny- but without hurting others.

Blue turned around in her seat to look at Adam. She had her cheek pressed against the headrest in a way that made it look like she was hiding, but Adam knew better. There was a look in her eye that told Adam she had questions she wanted answered, and though Gansey’s posture was milder, Adam could tell that he was curious, too. About what Kavinsky had said.

Adam dropped her gaze and looked out the window, but that meant he was looking at Ronan, and somehow he couldn’t tell which option was worse. The tiny front yard was crowded with dying summer flowers - shriveled pink zinnias, drooping day lilies, and a few dusty clumps of black eyed susans. It was hard to tell if they were dying from the turn of the weather, or the copious amounts of virginia creeper crawling out from under the porch- choking the garden and the railing up the front steps. The creeper was beginning to turn red, as it always did in fall, the leaves a muddy shade of blood.

Ronan picked at one of the vines, plucked a leaf and then shredded it methodically, peeling one side away from the center vein of the leaf and then downwards. Adam watched from the interior of the camaro. Gansey parked the pig neatly next to the BMW, and climbed out of the vehicle. He knocked on the roof of the car in a strangely absent, cavalier way. Adam looked up at him, and felt a sudden glassy tiredness settle over his hollow chest.

Gansey peered into the car window. “Are you coming in?” It was hard to tell if this question was meant for Adam, or all of them, but nonetheless it pressed at him. He wanted to rest his skull against the window again, wanted to lie down in the back seat and fall asleep with his legs cramped against the car door, but instead he got out of the car and stood next to Gansey.  

The sky was turning grey overhead, and the air felt damp. He could smell the hazy scent of ozone on the breeze. Adam wondered if it was going to rain, and Gansey tilted his head back to look at the moody clouds.

He said: “Some dinner, huh?”

Blue had just climbed out of the car in time to catch this remark, and her gaze snagged on Adam, curious for his response. He felt like a specimen under glass, and shrugged with one shoulder.

“It wasn’t what I was expecting.”

Sympathetic, Blue nodded as she walked around the car to the sidewalk adjacent to the house. She opened her mouth to say something, obviously her words had been queued up, but then she stopped herself, and fidgeted with the sleeve of her dress. By now, Henry had exited the pig as well. He was the only one who seemed unaffected by the painful awkwardness pervading the group, and walked straight up to Gansey, clapping a hand on his shoulder.

“Well, we got some free entertainment for the evening. Like watching a car crash in slow motion.”

With some relief, Gansey let out a small laugh. Somehow, the bluntness of it, the truth- diffused the awful tension between them all. He said: “Yes, I’d tend to agree with that assessment of the situation.”

Talking about it- well it seemed like talking about what had happened was easier than pretending it hadn’t happened. Adam looked over his shoulder. Ronan was still shredding leaves in the rocking chair, but now he was watching them with a wary gaze. His eyes locked with Adam’s, his expression unreadable, and Adam felt like folding under the weight of his stare. He wanted to ask: what do we tell them? He wanted to ask: did it even really count if you left? He wanted Ronan to tell him what to say, but probably Ronan didn’t know how to confront this either.

Blue coughed into her fist, dragging Adam’s eyes back to the group. Gansey straightened like he’d just remembered they had an agenda and said “I’m getting a little chilly. Maybe we should all go inside?”

And just like that, Adam couldn't refuse. Of course, he knew Blue was probably going to corner him in the kitchen and bombard him with questions until he cracked, but he’d known it was coming since dinner. So Adam nodded at the pair of them. Henry had distractedly wandered over to the mailbox and was now rifling through the meager pile of envelopes and magazines. Adam gave him a tiny wave. Henry didn't seem to notice, engrossed in the newest issue of game informer.

Adam turned to Gansey. He felt anxious and out of sorts. “I’m going to talk to Ronan for a minute. Then I’ll be right in behind you.”

Gansey’s eyebrows rose towards his hairline. He exchanged a look with Blue, and for once this annoyed Adam, but there wasn't anything he could say about it. Gansey said “We’ll give you some privacy, then.”

This was obviously a loaded statement, tied back to the events of their dinner. It forced Adam to either dismiss Ronan’s earlier statement, or encourage it. He didn’t think Gansey was calculating enough to say this on purpose, but it made him uncomfortable nonetheless. His friends wanted to know the answer to something _he_ didn’t even know the answer to.

Adam said: “It’s not like that. But I’d like to talk to him alone.” He shoved his hands into his jeans pockets just for somewhere to put them. Gansey nodded at Adam, respectful, and looked at Blue- who had listened in on the entire conversation, and understood the message to give Adam some space. She smiled at him for a moment, before grabbing Gansey’s hand and pulling him off to get Henry. Adam waited until his friends drifted up the front steps and inside before he joined Ronan on the porch.

He felt less uncomfortable, now that they weren’t in his immediate line of sight. They could very well be sitting right behind the window in the living room to listen in, but still, without the attention of his friends thoroughly focused on Adam, he felt a weight drop from his shoulders. He let out a deep breath, and climbed onto the porch railing to face Ronan, leaning his back against one of the wooden pillars.

Ronan must’ve heard Adam’s request to come talk to him, and seemed neither surprised or impressed by his sudden appearance. The only tell that Adam had his attention was the fact that he’d stopped shredding the creeper leaves, instead folding his arms across his chest, immediately defensive. Inwardly, Adam hoped this conversation wouldn’t turn into a fight, but he could see it devolving into one very easily, so he kept himself a safe distance away, perched on the railing of the porch.

Evenly, Adam told Ronan. “I think we should talk about what you said at the restaurant.”

“Yeah.” Ronan agreed. His tone was two ticks off from acidic and one tick off from miserable. “Everyone else seems to think so, too.”

Adam winced, just barely. He wasn’t sure he was quite as upset as Ronan about what had happened, but he certainly wasn't happy about it either. What happened between him and Ronan had been private, had been something just for the two of them even if they’d decided it was never to be repeated. He badly wanted to find some way to ease both of their unrest, but he just sighed. “I’m not mad about this, Ronan. I just don’t know what to tell them.”

“We don’t have to tell them jack shit.” Ronan’s expression was fierce, defiant. “It’s none of their business anyways.”

This was not an entirely helpful suggestion. Adam told Ronan: “You know Blue’s going to grill me until I give her some sort of explanation, right?”

“Fuck.” Ronan was picking at his leather bands now, snapping them and twisting them against his wrist in a way that looked to be painful. “Whatever. Tell her the truth. We hooked up at a party, I bailed, and then when you moved in I was too scared of your scrawny ass to play nice.”

Ronan's wrists were very red from the wristbands, and Adam felt mildly stunned by his words. His brain was processing sluggishly. _Too scared of your scrawny ass to play nice. Too scared._ What did that mean? Ronan made it sound like his own fault, like Adam hadn’t done anything wrong. He still thought, somehow, he had to have messed it up. Why else would Ronan leave without saying goodbye? For a few long moments, Adam rolled it over in his mind, but now wasn’t the time for mental dissection.

“So that's how you want to tell them?” His tongue felt clumsy in his mouth, his accent crawling out on display. He hated how that happened when he was nervous. His palms felt sweaty, so he wiped them awkwardly on his jeans.

Ronan slouched further in his rocking chair, which only served to make it rock further backwards. Adam was a little impressed that Ronan wasn’t rocking frantically- he’d noticed the other man’s tendency to fidget when he was uncomfortable. Ronan uncrossed his arms, and then folded them at his sides. He told Adam: “I don’t see how else we could explain it.”

Adam thought about it. There were plenty of ways to avoid explaining it at all, plenty of stories they could tell their friends. They could discredit Kavinsky and dismiss what he’d said at dinner as nonsense. They could insist they’d never met before Adam moved in. It would be just as easy to lie as it would be to tell the truth, and much less painful. Adam didn’t necessarily like lying, but he’d gotten good at it over the years. It was an important survival skill when you grew up like he did. Lie about how much your job pays. Lie about your scholarship. Lie about the bruises and the broken ribs.

Adam dropped Ronan’s gaze to look at his shoes. “We could tell them Kavinsky was lying.” There was a loose thread in the seam of his canvas sneakers that he had to restrain himself from picking at.

“They know he’s not lying,” Ronan shot back, venomous, “I already ruined it by asking how he knew.” Adam looked up again to find Ronan’s expression cold, cold, cold. His eyes were paralyzingly blue as he told Adam: “I’ll tell them nothing, or I’ll tell them the truth. I won’t help you make up some half-assed lie.”

Somehow Adam felt chastised. He wanted to drop his head again, hide his face from Ronan’s formidable stare, but instead he forced himself to meet his gaze. Even angry, even upset, Ronan was still stark and strange and handsome in the dusky evening. Adam felt trapped by the intensity of his gaze and the slope of his shoulders in that dark leather jacket. Despite their argument, Adam was still hooked on the edges of Ronan, pulled under to drown. It almost hurt to look at him.

Adam sighed, and rubbed his eyes with the heels of his palms until they watered and he saw stars. “I don’t know what to say, Ronan.” He was exhausted.  “This is your call.”

Ronan didn’t look pleased by his surrender the way Adam had expected him to. Instead, he looked away from Adam and started snapping his wristbands against the fair skin of his inner arms. Adam didn’t want to watch, but he didn’t know if he could stop Ronan on his agenda, so he stood, awkwardly, and knocked on the armrest of Ronan’s chair to grab his attention. “Come on. Let’s go inside.”

“And do what?” Ronan looked at Adam, his lips pressed into a thin frown.

“Tell them,” Adam shrugged, “Don’t tell them. I don’t care, I told you this is your choice.”

Behind them in the yard, the trees sighed as a light rain began to fall. Neither of them payed it any attention, even as the breeze blew the drizzle up onto the porch, catching on their clothing and in their hair.

Ronan let out an undignified huff and said “Fine. Whatever. Let’s go tell the cavalry.”

He seemed unfairly put out by this, and it annoyed Adam. It was _Ronan’s_ idea to tell them in the first place. He suddenly felt a small pang of resentment, but the sentiment of it was too tangled up in his head for Adam to place one source. He at once resented Ronan for exposing them to their friends, resented Kavinsky for ruining it all, and resented their situation in the first place. For a brief moment, he wished he never met Ronan at that party. Adam would’ve met him anyways, once he moved in with Gansey, but who knew what that would make them now. Would Adam still be stuck pretending his attraction to Ronan was buried? Maybe they could’ve been friends that way- casual, uncomplicated.

Adam reminded Ronan: “You were the one who wanted to tell them the truth”

Ronan heaved himself out of the rocking chair, too low to the ground to be easy to get out of for someone his height, and rolled his eyes spectacularly. He told Adam “Don’t remind me.”

✕

 

There was tea steeping in the kitchen when they came inside. Why the kitchen had become the official room for war counsel in the green house, Ronan couldn’t guess. The fragrant scent of jasmine tea was a warm comfort and a warning at the same time. It was good tea, more expensive than the kind Gansey usually made, and Blue only broke it out on special occasions. Or, of course, when metaphorical shit was about to hit the fan.

Ronan tried not to look suspicious. It took a conscious effort not to chew at his leather wristbands, especially as three keen pairs of eyes followed his entrance to the room. His only form of short lived relief was when Adam walked into the kitchen behind him, heading straight for a perch on the counter. Blue poured him a cup of tea, wordlessly passing it over to Adam. He thanked her quietly, and then every pair of eyes in the room turned back to Ronan.

He promptly chose to glare at his shoes instead of meeting Gansey’s expectant gaze, or indulging Henry’s cool curiosity. A long, quiet moment passed- slow and thick as molasses. Ronan could barely stand their stares, or their silent questions. He twisted his bracelets tight against his wrist, the snap of it sharp, hot, painful. He knew what they were going to ask him about. It shouldn’t have cut his mouth to say it, but he tasted blood anyway. “I slept with Adam. Happy?”

He folded his arms across his chest to keep from twisting his wristbands again. His arm had turned a blotchy, unhappy shade of red. Ronan looked at them so he didn’t have to look at his friends. The room had been quiet before, but now it was agonizing, suffocating the air out of his lungs. He wanted to break something. A plate. A dream object. His own hand.

Ronan finally dared to look at them all. “This is what you wanted. Dying to know, huh?”

Blue picked at her tights with one hand, her other occupied by Gansey’s. She somehow seemed guilty and fiercely defensive at the same time. Her glare nearly matched Ronan’s. “ I just wanted to know why that scumbag was talking to you.”

Of course, she meant Kavinsky. On some level Ronan was wondering the same thing. He knew that K just wanted him to go back to the drinking and the drugs, the racing and the dreaming, but why did he invite Ronan to the halloween party? Why not corner him sooner? Thinking about it made his stomach curdle.  

Carefully, Gansey added: “We don’t want him bothering you.”

Usually, Gansey’s care didn’t annoy him, but today it felt like condescension. Like Ronan was a child that needed to be monitored.

He snapped: “I can handle it myself.”

Blue crossed her arms, dropping Gansey’s hand. “You don’t always have to do everything on your own.”

Henry chose to remain tactfully silent- He hadn’t known Ronan as long as Blue and Gansey, and they’d never been close the same way as the others. This wasn’t a conversation for him, and Ronan appreciated the fact that Henry recognized it. Adam, too, was quiet- but in a different way. He was looking at some place above the refrigerator, distant, a white knuckled grip on the counter.

“Actually,” Ronan argued. “I do.”

He buried nightmares on his own. He cleaned up the blood on his own. It was his burden to hold, and in some ways it was his own fault. He could never seem to let go of all the pain he carried inside him, heavy like a second skeleton. It weighed his limbs down. It sharpened his spine rigid with grief.

And he’d already done this to them once. He wouldn’t involve them in it again.

Blue made a face. It was the same face she always made when she knew she wouldn’t be winning an argument against him, even if it was over something simple, like what movie they were going to watch. Her lips thinned, her eyebrows drew down on her forehead. She looked a little bit like she was sucking on a lemon. She told him: “Suit yourself.”

Ronan could tell she was upset, and he didn’t like it. He was mad, but his anger wasn’t truly directed at any of them, and he felt a tiny stab of guilt for hurting her. He couldn’t bring himself to apologize, but he sighed. Suddenly he was exhausted, the bitter adrenaline he’d been running on thinning away in his bloodstream. “Jesus, Sargent, I’m not mad at you. I just-” He stopped himself, uncrossed his arms and pinched his wrist between his nails. Words kept rising inside him, none of them a real explanation for what he was feeling. Nothing was adequate. There was no measurement for the anger, the hurt, the fear roiling inside him like a toxic cocktail. He settled for saying: “Kavinsky pissed me off.”

Politely, Gansey replied. “We could tell.”

Ronan leaned back against the fridge, re-crossing his arms over his chest. “Thanks, Dick.”

“You looked like you were about to start a brawl in the middle of the restaurant!” Gansey replied, defensive. He took his glasses off and rubbed them with his polo before replacing them on his eyes again. “It was hard not to notice.”

“Whatever.” Ronan scowled. “At least he fucked off.”

Gansey agreed with a sigh. “Yes, at least.”

There was a beat of silence, as if Gansey was deciding how much more he wanted to pry out of Ronan, but Blue jumped into the conversation again.

“If you’re not going to let us help you with Kavinsky, will you at least explain what you said? About-” She gestured between Adam and Ronan. She seemed too disbelieving to even say it, and Adam ducked his head so you could only see the messy top of his dust-colored hair. Ronan noticed his ears had turned very pink.

Ronan didn’t want to explain what he said, but he figured it was his own fault for even mentioning it. He didn’t try to mask his wariness or his hostility. He arched an eyebrow at her. “How much do you need to know?”

He could tell Blue was fiendishly curious, but her posture remained relaxed. He knew they were all curious- Gansey had been glancing between him and Adam the entire time as they left the restaurant, and had gone tellingly still in his seat now, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. Henry was scrolling through something on his phone. They were all acting so casual, so indifferent, that it made it obvious that they were deeply interested.

Blue stuck her nail through a run in her tights. “When did it even happen- I thought.” She paused, looking down and avoiding Ronan’s gaze, ripping her tights more thoroughly. “You made it seem like you hated Adam when he moved in.”

Ronan’s mouth felt dry. Instantly, he felt guilty all over again for how he’d acted when Adam moved in. He’d never hated Adam- not even for a minute. He just hadn’t been ready to see him. He was going to say something- anything, but Adam spoke first, and of course he would. He was as much a part of the situation as Ronan was.

“We met last spring. At a party.” Adam’s expression was hard to identify, carefully neutral. His hands were still braced against the kitchen counter, the peaks of his knuckles white with pressure. This wasn’t easy for him, either. “It was actually the marketing group party.”

Gansey looked at Ronan, raising his eyebrows. “That’s why I couldn’t find you that night! I thought you’d just gone to The Barns.”

Ronan shrugged. “I actually got cookies.”

Blue frowned. “I thought you said you hooked up with Adam?”

“I got cookies before I hooked up with Adam. We both got cookies.”

“Are the cookies important to the story?” Henry asked, not even looking up from his phone. He had his legs propped up on the kitchen table and no one had bothered to tell him to put them down.

Quizzical, Gansey asked: “And why did you two….?” He trailed off and just gestured between them. He seemed so awkward about it that it actually startled a laugh out of Ronan. It was comical that Gansey was more awkward about this than him _or_ Adam.

He said. “Have you seen Adam? Like, looked at him for more than three seconds?”

Gansey went red at Ronan’s answer. He spluttered: “I mean, well, Adam’s a very nice looking young man but-” Blue put a hand on his arm before he could embarrass himself further, and Gansey let out a deep sigh. He still looked a lot like a tomato.

The kitchen had gone very silent. If it was at all possible, Adam’s ears had gotten pinker, and if Ronan hadn’t been so afraid to look at him, he might’ve seen a ruddy flush to Adam’s cheeks. But he wasn’t looking at Adam. He wasn’t. He stared resolutely at the knob on one of the cabinets. It was blue glass. It did not match any of the other knobs.

He was still looking at it when he said: “It just happened once. Let’s leave it at that.”

✕

In some strange mercy, Gansey, Blue, and Henry stopped asking questions after that, and instead decided to go grocery shopping. The new Wegmans had just opened, and apparently Gansey was keen on finding an obscure brand of gelato he heard they carried. Ronan and Adam stayed behind. Adam said he wanted to do some extra studying. Ronan said he wanted to see Chainsaw. Henry joked that Noah would supervise them and make sure they weren’t “canoodling.” Blue elbowed him for this, and Ronan appreciated it.

It wasn’t quite late, when they’d all gotten home, but Ronan was tired all the same. He’d argued with Kavinsky, Adam, and his friends all in one night. It was enough to drain him substantially, and by the time they all split up, Ronan was ready to be alone.

When he opened the door to his room, he found it dark and cluttered. Nothing out of the ordinary. The shades were drawn low, blocking what little grey, dusky light there was outside. Ronan raised the shades and cracked the window anyways. The gentle sound of rain on leaves carried inside, the scent of the impending autumn on the breeze. Chainsaw cawed curiously at him from her perch on his dreadfully underused desk, seemingly overjoyed by his return.

Ronan was pleased to see her too. When he sat on the foot of the bed, she alighted on his shoulder, and he gave her the fortune from inside his cookie from dinner. Chainsaw took it in her beak, and then turned to regard him with one shiny, black eye. She croaked at him halfheartedly, and then went back to his desk, hiding the piece of paper somewhere among his abandoned school assignments and her treasure trove before he could decide to take it back from her.

She also chose that moment to begin shredding his meager notes from the spring semester. Ronan sighed, but didn’t scold her. He didn’t know why he’d kept them in the first place.

As Chainsaw set about tearing his notes into confetti, Ronan scrounged around the floor for his headphones. He found a snowglobe with perpetually falling glitter and a tiny, happy family inside. He frowned, and rolled it under his bed where it wouldn’t be seen for another year or so. He didn’t remember dreaming it, but half the time he never meant to dream at all. His headphones were buried under a pair of jeans that had been ripped by night horrors instead of machines in careful factories. Ronan flung them in the direction of his dirty laundry basket but missed by a few feet.

He did not get up to put the jeans in his dirty laundry basket. Instead, he plugged in his headphones, put on the most mind-numbing electronica he could find, and without meaning to, Ronan drifted off.

When he woke up, he was immobile. His mouth felt thick and cottony. For the first time in weeks, he couldn’t remember what he’d been dreaming about, but he had a long ribbon of a shimmering, iridescent fabric clutched in his hand. Touching it felt like sliding his fingers through water, but he didn’t waste any time to marvel at it. As soon as his limbs thawed, he shoved it into the drawer of his bedside table. The drawer was starting to get full again, his room a cluster of wonders. He would probably need to take things to The Barns soon.

Ronan sat up. He still had his headphones on, blaring electronica. He scrubbed a hand over his eyes. His mouth tasted strange. When he sat up, Chainsaw flew over to him, settling her weight on his leg. She generally didn’t like petting, but when Ronan reached out to stroke the feathers around her beak, she allowed it for a few minutes, preening under his attention until she got sick of it. At this point, she hopped pointedly onto the windowsill and cawed which meant she wanted to be let out. She would probably go eat a few mice, or frogs, or poop on a neighbour’s car. He opened the only window without a screen, and Chainsaw exited with the soft flapping sound of her wings. Ronan had to turn out the light, unwilling to attract moths into his bedroom. In the suffocating darkness, he shambled out of the room and down the hall.

He really needed to brush his teeth.

He still had his headphones jammed in his ears when he opened the bathroom door, volume high enough that the world was drowned out around him. It was because of this that Ronan didn’t notice the shower running. For a few moments, he busied himself wetting the toothbrush, squeezing the toothpaste out of the tube. It was a fluorescent shade of artificial blue that Ronan should’ve found questionable.

Distantly, he heard someone say: “Ronan!” but over the music he barely noticed it, until they threw a wet washcloth out of the shower. It hit Ronan on the back of the neck, and dropped onto the floor with a wet smacking sound. He startled, ripping his headphones out of his ears and accidentally banging his knee against the sink. He dropped the toothbrush. Someone said: “━ what the hell are you doing in here?”

Adam’s head was poking out from behind the shower curtain. He was frowning at Ronan. His ears were very pink again. Ronan could see a sliver of his freckled shoulder, water from the shower running down his neck. Momentarily, Ronan forgot what Adam had asked him, too busy staring at the exposed skin of his collarbone, the movement of Adam’s neck as he swallowed, impatient. He remembered that neck, that shoulder, that pink mouth. He also remembered a hell of a lot more than that. Ronan took a step back without thinking, directly onto the washcloth. It squelched unpleasantly under his foot.

He remembered - _what the hell are you doing in here-_ and tried to recover, fast. He snapped: “I’m brushing my teeth, genius. What the fuck did you think?”

Adam’s jaw set, and he ducked back behind the curtain. It was both a relief and a disappointment that Ronan couldn’t see him anymore. “I don’t know. I was trying to take a shower and you just barged in here.”

“At least we both value hygiene.” Ronan replied, sarcastic. He didn’t know how to be anything else right now. Adam was behind that curtain and he was very wet and very naked and it was making him want to set himself on fire. Or take a cold shower, but the second idea clearly wasn’t an option at the moment.

He picked the toothbrush up off the floor. There was a smear of toothpaste on the white tile beneath his feet. He wiped it off with the washcloth Adam had thrown at him. He said: “For someone who values hygiene, Parrish, throwing around washcloths isn’t very helpful.”

“I said your name!” Adam replied. “At least three times. And you didn’t do anything. I had to improvise.”

Ronan picked the washcloth up off the ground and left it at the edge of the sink. “I was listening to music.” He put more toothpaste on his toothbrush and jammed it in his mouth, scrubbing vigorously. He scowled at himself in the mirror. His cheeks were pink. He scowled even more.

Wryly, Adam asked: “You call that music?”

“Hey!” Ronan protested around the toothbrush in his mouth. “I only listen to masterpieces.”

“I can’t tell what you said.” Adam replied, and Ronan spit into the sink. There was blood mixed in with his toothpaste. Maybe he’d brushed too hard.

He was still scowling at his reflection, but somehow, he felt lighter now than he had all day, despite the tang of blood and artificial mint in his mouth. “I said I only listen to masterpieces.”

“Right.” Adam said, his sarcasm as thick as Ronan’s. “Of course. The murder squash song is a modern masterpiece.”

“Damn right it is.” Ronan replied. He liked Adam like this, when he was annoyed enough to needle Ronan back. It made him feel known.

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Do you want your washcloth back? I got toothpaste on it.”

“Hygienic.” Adam remarked. And then: “Just leave it in the sink.”

“Alright, Parrish. I’m probably going to try to go back to sleep.” Ronan turned, leaning against the sink. It had been easier to ignore the fact that Adam was showering three feet away from him when he’d been glaring at himself in the mirror. Now he was just looking at the shower curtain. He remembered the sliver of Adam’s shoulder he’d been able to see when he first came into the bathroom, and swallowed down at least three inappropriate impulses. He said: “Have a nice shower.”

“Have a nice rest, Lynch.” Adam returned, and that was that. Ronan stared at the curtain for an instant longer, the shower smell of soap and running water filling his head until he shook it, and slipped out of the bathroom. The door closed behind him with a gentle click. The air in the hallway was considerably less humid than the bathroom, a cold relief. If Ronan had been tired before, the state had been ruined. He felt charged now, kinetic and over aware of his body.

His skin felt hot.

He started down the hall, back to his room, and stopped halfway to rest his head against the cool wall. He exhaled. Inhaled deeper. Exhaled again. He forced himself not to picture Adam’s laugh the night they met. His smile. The way he kissed Ronan. Earnest- like he really meant it. Like he really wanted to. He thought of every morning Adam put two bagels in the toaster because they both had classes at ten. He thought of every time Adam rolled his eyes at Ronan because he’d said something stupid. He thought of their argument on the porch. He thought of Adam in the shower.

Ronan didn’t really have a choice about it. He was still having nightmares, still trying to figure out why cabeswater was always black in his head, still trying to clean up his own messes. He still hadn’t told Adam that he could dream. He didn’t have a choice.

Ronan didn’t want to be friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ha! ya'll thought when i said shower scene in the chapter summary. or maybe u didn't but still
> 
> anyways.. i had a sweet sweet summer of depression and depression napping, that's why it took so long to update, but i hope this was worth the wait. i honestly have no clue what my update schedule is going to be like but! i'm trying my best with this fic. maybe i will even finish it one day. anyways! please leave a comment because they feed my will to keep writing. thank you to the readers who have been sticking with this fic since the beginning. on another note: my birthday is coming up on october fourth and if anyone has any like.. secret playlists or edits or smth for this fic... i would love to see them lol. i'm @admlynch on tumblr, feel free to hit me up. speaking of playlists for this fic! here's my one on spotify. it is not spoiler free but the spoilers will have to be derived from the songs. have fun. 
> 
> https://open.spotify.com/user/carlyicfc/playlist/35phfVJBHJRABNrG6dkquP


	9. maybe i don't act the way i used to

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tad carruthers is BACK! For once in his god forsaken life, Ronan studies. Joseph Kavinsky is annoying. There are some talks of feelings, and a movie night. ft. dream shenanigans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there is some implied/referenced talks about abuse as well as implied/referenced past self harm, but i promise this chapter isn't as scary as the warning makes it sound.

_ Maybe I don’t act the way I used to _

_ ‘Cause I don’t feel the same about you  _

_ In fact, that's a lie _

_ I want you _

\-- soundcheck, catfish and the bottlemen

 

It was well and truly beginning to feel like fall. When Adam got out of class, the air was cool and clear- enough to alleviate the immediate pressure of his assignments weighing on the back of his mind. October loomed on the horizon like a rolling thunderstorm. He checked his phone. He was in a different section of Business Analytics than Henry and Gansey, but they would be getting out of their Quantitative Finance class at any minute. They were all planning to meet up for lunch on the corner, foregoing the dining hall for a change of pace. 

Adam didn’t really mind - he’d taken an extra shift at Boyd’s over the weekend. With the Kavinsky debacle and Ronan barging into the bathroom on him, he’d decided he would take as many distractions as he could get. Burying himself in work- school or otherwise- was a perfectly respectable way to cope. 

He waited under a tree outside of Rouss hall, one of many students milling around after class. Of course, everyone had left the building- but no one had managed to disperse, waiting for classmates or making study plans with their friends. A breeze fluttered against the brittle leaves above him, branches sighing together. The sun was beating down on him through the foliage, and he tugged at the neck of his sweater, starting to become uncomfortable. He checked his phone again. Nothing. He texted Gansey:  _ Are we going to Bodo’s?  _

Gansey replied as Adam was stuffing his sweater unceremoniously into his backpack. That morning it had been cold enough that he wanted it for the walk to class, but by now the temperature had risen to render the wool a stuffy cage.  _ We’ll be there soon. The professor is still telling us about the H.W!  _ Adam replied:  _ I’m outside Rouss. Find me when you guys get out.  _

Adam scuffed at the mulch around the tree with his foot, checked the weather on his phone. He glanced across the quad, at Cocke hall. A handful of classics majors were milling around the stairs, smoking. One of them was wearing a sophisticated black coat that had to be sweltering. One of them he recognized from the restaurant- dyed hair, flashy grin. 

He knew Ronan was in there somewhere.  _  Probably in class with Kavinsky,  _ He thought grimly. He looked up, back towards Rouss, hoping to catch Gansey and Henry exiting through the heavy double doors. Instead, he saw Tad Carruthers jogging down the steps. He noticed Adam, noticed Adam was making eye contact with him, and then waved: “Adam! Man, I haven’t seen you since the party a couple weeks back!” 

And then it seemed that Tad was right in front of him, standing underneath the same tree as Adam, wearing a pair of jeans and an ostentatiously yellow sweater. He actually didn’t look bad in yellow, which was a feat. Everyone looked bad in yellow.  _ Ronan  _ looked bad in yellow. (He had one yellow-t-shirt printed with a banana on it that he’d worn around the house when all his laundry was dirty. Henry proudly told Adam that he had gifted it to Ronan for Christmas the year before.)

Adam smiled, trying to be polite. “Yeah, you know how it is. Class, homework. Can’t get a minute to breathe around here.” 

“Totally.” Tad agreed, nodding enthusiastically. “But I’ve been hoping I’d run into you-” He was fidgeting with a pen he’d pulled out of his pocket, capping and uncapping it. “-I had a good time talking at the fundraiser.” 

“Sure,” Adam agreed, keeping his tone mild, even as he tried to think of a way to get out of this situation. He didn’t know how to act around Tad- whether flat out rejecting him was rude, or a mercy for Tad’s sake. 

Tad asked: “How’ve you been the past couple weeks?” 

Adam thought about it. He was having strange dreams. He was juggling school work and his job. He was dealing with an inconvenient attraction to one of his roommates, and said roommate apparently had an arch nemesis who was trying to meddle in their lives. Said roommate liked to walk around without a shirt on. 

Adam was very, very tired. He said: “Busy.” 

Tad smiled like they were co conspirators. “I get you. I always have a hard time adjusting back to school, after the summer.” 

It had been nearly two months since school started and that wasn’t what Adam was struggling with at all, but he nodded anyways. He didn’t want to explain himself to Tad. For a moment, he stopped to appreciate the fact that they weren’t in many classes together- and the few classes they had were huge, lecture style periods. Adam sat somewhere different every time, and generally, Tad didn’t seem to spot him until halfway through the class, like that was his goal instead of taking notes. 

He was so lucky most of the work for the marketing group was done online. 

It was easier for Adam to listen to Tad talk about himself than talk about how he’d been, so he deflected. “Are you still taking french?” 

Tad broke into a smile. “Yeah! I didn’t know you remembered that.” 

Adam remembered a lot of things, and he’d spent more time around Tad than he’d spent around most of his classmates. It wasn’t special for him to remember something like that, but the expression on Tad’s face had shifted to something soft, something nervous. Adam didn’t want to think about what that meant, and tried to take a subtle step back. 

“It’s your minor, right?” 

“Yes.” Tad replied. He seemed happy to talk about it. “I love it, honestly. I kind of wish I’d made it my major but,” He rolled his eyes. “my parents would probably have a fit if I switched out of the commerce school.” 

Adam had never heard Tad talk about his family. He might’ve believed it if someone told him Tad had sprung whole out of an Urban Outfitters catalogue. It was strange to think of him with parents, siblings. Adam tilted his head a tiny bit, considering Tad’s face. He was probably rambunctious as a kid. 

“It’s a good school.” Adam replied. “And well, the marketing group opens doors.” 

This didn’t really seem to be what Tad was interested in hearing. He sighed, and kicked absently at one of the crunchy, brown leaves on the ground. 

“I know.” Tad replied. 

Adam got the distinct impression that he’d upset Tad somehow. He felt awkward, uncomfortable in his skin. He didn’t really know how to help, and he was about to reach out to pat Tad on the shoulder- but Gansey called his name. 

“Adam!” 

He turned around. His friends were coming down the steps, Henry was right behind Gansey, his hair slicked up miles high. He noticed Tad, and unsubtly waggled his eyebrows at Adam. Adam had to resist the urge to roll his eyes. He turned back to Tad. 

“Hey, sorry. I have to go get lunch now.” 

Tad only looked a little crestfallen, which was a relief. Adam told him: “I’ll see you in class.” He gave Tad a small smile, and then turned to go after his friends. 

Before he’d even made it five feet away, Tad had jogged up in front of him. “Adam, wait- sorry- I just wanted to ask you something.” 

They were within earshot of Henry and Gansey now, and over Tad’s shoulder, he saw Gansey raise an eyebrow at Henry. Henry made a comically suggestive face at Adam. It was a miracle he didn’t frown at the two of them, but Tad was right in front of him, so he kept his expression carefully neutral. 

Adam asked: “Is everything okay?” 

“No- I mean, yeah, everything’s okay I just,” Tad’s face had turned very pink. Adam had a sudden suspicion to where this conversation was going, and his stomach bottomed out. Tad asked: “Do you maybe want to go get coffee sometime? I’ve been meaning to ask but- I couldn’t find you after the party.” 

Adam felt mildly ill. It wasn’t that Tad was making him ill, or that there was anything wrong with Tad, it was just- well. He didn’t like Tad. He’d never liked Tad in that way. Tad made him feel uncomfortable, too small in his skin. It was a strange thing to be wanted by someone who had every advantage over you in life and didn’t seem to realize it. 

Adam lied: “I don’t really like coffee.” He heard Henry snicker, about a yard away. 

“We could do something else instead.” Tad offered, and at this point, Henry called: 

“Parrish is taken!” 

Both Adam and Tad turned bright red. Gansey elbowed Henry pointedly, a gentle signal to be quiet, but between a laugh Henry continued: “He and Lynch are going steady. It’s very cute.” 

This was a lie, made uncomfortable for both Tad and Adam. Tad was uncomfortable because he’d just asked out someone, who, apparently had a boyfriend. Adam was uncomfortable because he was not, in fact, dating Ronan Lynch even though he would very much like to be dating Ronan Lynch. 

“I’m sorry.” Adam muttered. His face was burning. “I have to go.” 

“Yeah-” Tad stumbled over his words. “I mean- I’m sorry, I didn’t know-” But Adam was already stalking off towards Henry and Gansey, grabbing the pair by the shoulders, and walking swiftly away. 

Once they were a safe distance from Tad and Rouss hall, walking parallel to the three green levels of the lawn, Adam hissed: “What the hell was that?” 

Henry was still laughing. “Someone had to put him out of his misery. I was letting him down easy.” 

“I-” Adam spluttered. “I could’ve just told him no!” 

He was louder than he’d meant to be, borne of indignance and surprise. One of the doors to the rooms on the lawn was open, and a student doing her homework looked up from her laptop, peering curiously at the three of them. Adam lowered his voice: “I was going to tell him I was too busy.” 

“And I told him you were too busy holding hands with Lynch!” Henry replied. “Almost the same story.” 

“God.” Adam stopped, letting go of Gansey and Henry’s shoulders to cover his eyes with his hands. He pressed his palms hard against his eyelids, until it almost hurt. Students swerved past them on the brick walkway. A professor on his way to class eyed Gansey, Henry and Adam wearily. They were a car crash in the highway of traffic to classes. Adam felt like he was going to be sick again. “Did you hear anything Ronan or I said all weekend? We’re not dating. It was a one time thing.” 

“You and Ronan aren’t involved anymore.” Gansey interjected. “I think we all got the memo.” He gave a pointed look to Henry, who shrugged. 

“I just said it to get Lover Boy off your heels.” He stuck his hands in the pockets of his elaborately embroidered bomber jacket. “And, to be candid with you Parrish, you and Lynch look like a couple sometimes.”

“We don’t.” Adam said, automatically. He looked down, resting the urge to pick at a torn seam in the hem of his shirt. His skin felt itchy. “We’re friends.” 

“I wasn’t surprised when Lynch said you two slept together.” 

If it was possible, Adam’s ears felt even warmer. He was sure he looked like a tomato. “Can we stop talking about this?” 

Henry held his hands up in surrender. “I was trying to help. In my defense, you two are having eye-sex all the time so you can’t say I’m wrong.” 

Gansey managed to choke on his own spit at this. Adam would’ve been more annoyed with Henry for saying all this if he wasn’t so upset. This entire conversation was just a reminder of what he didn’t have, and it hurt. He  _ liked  _ Ronan. Like a high schooler with a crush, he just wanted to be closer, just wanted to know more- and it was simultaneously embarrassing and painful to be rendered so transparent. His relationship with Ronan had never been under this kind of scrutiny before they’d told the others. 

He wished they were able to keep it a secret. 

Adam said: “I thought we were going to get bagels.” 

Gansey nodded quickly, enthusiastic. He seemed as eager for a subject change as Adam. Probably, the term “eye-sex” had freaked him out. He pointed at both of them: “Bodos. Lunch.” He gave Henry a strangely significant, dad-ish look. “We didn’t plan an outing just to interrogate Adam about his love life.” 

“I’ll leave Parrish alone now.” Henry said, miming crossing an x over his heart. “On my honor.” 

Adam felt a surge of relief. He shot Henry a sharp look: “If this spreads, you have to tell Ronan why Tad Carruthers thinks we’re dating. I didn’t start this.” 

Henry grimaced. “I guess I dug my own grave.” 

“You dug  _ mine _ .” Adam muttered. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans. He took a deep breath. “I’m starving. Can we go now?” 

This effectively ended the previous line of conversation. Gansey started rambling about their homework assignment, probably in an attempt to diffuse any tension. Adam, for once, was relieved that Gansey was sweeping the issue under the rug. He didn’t want his relationship- or lack thereof- with Ronan to be picked apart any more than it already had. He was overly aware of his friends stares any time he and Ronan were in the same space, and he was already tired of it. Adam thought:  _ I want things to go back to normal.  _

If he really thought about it, however, the truth was plain. Nothing had been normal since he met Ronan- the flowers, the complications of their relationship, the strange dreams he’d been having. Even though it would’ve been easier if Adam had never met Ronan, he wouldn’t change what happened for anything. 

✕

Ronan was studying, which was an extremely rare occurrence, but he had a translation due on Friday, and his grammar was rusty. It was the first week of October. He scowled at the textbook in front of him. He hadn’t cracked the spine yet this fall. He took notes in class sometimes, but they always turned into frantic drawings by the end of the lecture, with thick black lines and foreign shapes. They were useless to study from, and the textbook was a boring but necessary substitute. 

He’d been at it for an hour, and trying to conjugate verbs was starting to make his head hurt. He balled his hands into fists and pressed his knuckles hard into his forehead. It didn’t help. Ronan was frustrated and tired, sick of trying to translate the passage his professor had assigned. The heavy silence of the stacks seemed to press in around him, and he looked away from his textbook, examining the wall next to the small, rickety desk he sat at. Someone had written: _ If you could change something about yourself, what would it be _ ? The list of responses went on down the wall. Someone else had written:  _ FUCK THE SYSTEM _ in blocky, thick letters. It made the corner of his mouth turn up. 

There was a buzzing sound coming from his backpack, which meant someone was calling. There was poor signal in the stacks, but Ronan was sick enough of his work for class that he picked up without hesitation. Gansey’s distorted voice filtered in through his speakers. 

“Ronan! Where are you? We’re doing movie night.” 

Ronan had forgotten about movie night. Their friend group was small and tightly-knit enough that events like this usually became a routine, but with Adam’s work schedule, movie nights had become more sporadic. No one wanted him to be left out, least of all Ronan. 

He said: “I thought Adam had to work tonight.” 

Gansey brushed it off. “His schedule got switched around, he told me. Apparently they hired another mechanic. He’s getting off in a little while.” 

“Did he drive today?” Ronan was doing the mental calculations. If he left now, maybe he could grab dinner and pick up Adam. Selfishly, he wanted an excuse to see him. He felt ridiculous for his own interest, but it wouldn’t hurt to get an extra meal into Adam. Ronan knew that he was so busy that sometimes that he forgot to eat in his breaks. 

“I think he took the free trolley.” Gansey’s voice changed, curiosity leaking into his tone. “Why do you ask?” 

Ronan considered how to answer this. He inhaled, exhaled. He wouldn’t lie. “Just wanted to know.” 

“You never said where you were.” 

“I’m at Alderman.” Ronan replied. He was already shoving his text book and his notebook in his backpack, leaning to pin the phone between his shoulder and his head. “We have a shitty translation due friday.” 

Gansey sounded skeptical. “Is your translation shitty, or is the piece you have to translate shitty?”

“Both, currently.” Ronan zipped up his backpack and swung it over his shoulder, scraping his chair back to stand. In his abrupt exit, he crashed his head into a shelf above the desk, and cursed viciously. A book fell to the floor. 

“Ronan? What happened?” 

“Nothing.” He pressed a hand over his head like it would make it stop hurting. “I’m going to pick up Adam.” 

“What?” Gansey fumbled. “I thought you said you were studying.” 

Ronan cut his way through the stacks. “I just finished.” 

“Okay.” Gansey replied. He sounded dubious but the connection was getting fuzzy as Ronan moved through the stacks, to the stairwell. 

“I’m going now.” Ronan told him, and he barely waited to hear another, staticky “okay,” in his ear before he hung up. Probably, he’d cut Gansey off- but he would’ve lost Gansey the minute he stepped into the stairwell, anyway. Alderman was notorious for having bad cell service, which was both a blessing and a curse as it kept you from being distracted, while making you very hard to reach. 

Ronan ducked into the heinously colored mint-green stairwell, and jogged up three flights of stairs, eager to be free of the narrow steps and the quiet stacks below. He always felt suffocated down there, but it was the only place he could force himself to study. If he tried to at the house, he’d end up talking with Noah in the kitchen, or volunteering to go grocery shopping with Blue. Really, he’d find a way to do anything  _ but  _ homework. So on rare, rare occasions- he went to the library. 

It also meant he’d take any excuse to leave Alderman. 

Picking up Adam and watching movies back at the house, of course, was an ideal excuse. He felt almost excited about it, although he’d loathe to admit he was excited for anything. It made him quicker in his exit from the library. Usually, Ronan would allow himself a few minutes to peruse the section on agriculture on the second floor, but instead he took the elevator up to the ground floor, and got out of the building, sending a text to Adam as he went. 

[Ronan:]  _ dick is having movie night. i’m picking you up.  _

He shoved his phone into the pocket of his jeans, and stuffed his hands into the pocket of his jacket. His car was parked at the culbreth garage, a few blocks away. As he walked, his phone buzzed. 

Ronan was pleased to see it was a response from Adam. 

[Adam:]  _ What are we watching?  _

Ronan should’ve thought to ask what they were watching before he hung up on Gansey. He should’ve asked before he decided to leave the library. He thought that if he had to watch  _ Monty Python and the Holy Grail _ one more time, his head would explode. It was Gansey’s favorite movie, and they ended up watching it at least every other weekend. Ronan would rather translate three Ovid passages than watch it again. He stopped on the steps of the library to text back. 

[Ronan:]  _ probably something indie that sargent suggested. or monty python.  _

He waited, and for a moment, there was no response, but then his phone buzzed in his hands. Adam was quick to text back, and it gave Ronan a strange thrill. He hated texting. He hated that he was this invested in a simple text. He wished he could quash his own feelings, but it seemed too late for that now. 

[Adam:]  _ I’ll pass on the holy grail.  _

This made his mouth curve into a thin smile. He replied: 

[Ronan:]  _ i don’t want to go on the cart! _

It was at this exact moment- as Ronan waited eagerly for Adam to shoot back some clever response, or for Adam to make fun of him- that someone slapped him on the shoulder in greeting. Ronan’s head snapped up. He shoved his phone into his pocket. 

Kavinsky smiled at him from behind a pair of white sunglasses, reflecting green trees, white steps, and a distorted image of Ronan inside them. He was too close, an arm slung around Ronan’s shoulder. He smelled like liquor. “What’s on that phone, Lynch? Looked like it must’ve been pretty funny.” 

Ronan stepped down onto a lower step, effectively putting himself out of Kavinsky’s physical reach. His half-formed smile had quickly died on his face. 

“What do you want?” 

“Oh, nothing.” Kavinsky was shorter than Ronan, but he was standing two steps above him at the moment, smiling widely, with far too many teeth. It was a shark’s grin before the first taste of blood. “Just checking in.” 

He was probably high. 

Ronan found himself leaning farther away from K. His phone buzzed in his pocket, and because the person who texted him the most was currently leering at him instead of texting him, it meant it was Adam. Ronan resisted the urge to pull his phone out and said: “I’m busy.” 

Kavinsky put on an exaggerated frown. “Are you, though?” 

Definitely high. 

“Yes.” Ronan replied, his voice clipped. He mocked a wave at Kavinsky. “Bye.” 

He turned to leave and behind him, he heard Kavinsky’s voice: “Ouch, Lynch. You’re really leaving me cold here.” Ronan clenched his jaw. He kept walking, away from the steps, away from the library, away from Kavinsky and the threat that lurked in his movements. “You wouldn’t want Parrish to find out about that secret, would you?” 

Ronan stopped. He twisted his wristbands viciously. He was abruptly angry. He heard slow footfalls, ambling towards him over the cement. He knew it was Kavinsky without turning. Venomous, he said: “Fuck off, man.”  

Kavinsky walked around, in front of Ronan on the sidewalk from the library. Other students walked by without a passing glance. He picked at a scab with his nails, feigning indifference. “You see, I would, but we have an agreement.” 

Ronan scowled. “I said I’d come to your shitty party. I didn’t say I’d do anything else.” 

“So come to the party.” Kavinsky poked Ronan in the shoulder with a pen he’d pulled from nowhere. He looked pointedly at Ronan, his expression dark. “And bring something interesting, I didn’t invite you just for shits and giggles.” 

Ronan felt his blood chill. “Interesting.” He repeated. To Kavinsky, something interesting was most likely a synonym for  _ dangerous.  _ He didn’t like this. He wished he was going to the gym instead of movie night. He could use a couple rounds with a punching bag about now. 

K tapped the pen, a rapid heart-beat pace on Ronan’s shoulder. It was a strangely intrusive gesture, and Ronan’s flicked it out of the other man’s fingers. Kavinsky made an impassive noise. He didn’t move to retrieve it from the dirt. “You know me. I’m an entertainer.” 

Ronan was frustrated, and feeling mildly panicked. He was going to be late to pick up Adam if he didn’t go soon. He just wanted to relax and watch a movie with his friends. He didn’t have time for this. He told Kavinsky: “What you are is a jackass.” and then after a beat of tense silence: “I’m leaving.”

“Suit yourself.” Kavinsky said. He mimed shooting himself with his thumb and forefinger. “See you in class.” 

Ronan shot Kavinsky one more dirty look, and as he walked off, he felt his phone buzz in his pocket with a text. 

He didn’t check it until he got to his car, ten minutes later, in the parking garage. There were actually three texts. 

[Adam:]  _ If you quote anymore Monty Python at me, I’m suing.  _

[434-837-1263 :]   _ @ halloween bring me a nightmare _

[434-837-1263 :]  _ or i’ll make one for you _

✕

Ronan’s BMW was idling outside of of Boyd’s when Adam left the shop. He’d washed his hands, but he was overly aware of the sharp, gasoline scent clinging to his clothing. It was impossible to get rid of completely until he’d showered and put his clothes through the wash. He hoped that Ronan wouldn’t notice. 

The lot was dark, but it wasn’t quite late. Fall had crept up on Charlottesville, thieving the light from the sky earlier and earlier each evening. A streetlamp bathed the crackly pavement in an orange glow as Adam approached the car, and knocked on the passenger side window. The door clicked unlocked, and Ronan leaned over, eyes flicking up and down over Adam’s form through the window. It was quick, subtle, even- if he was feeling generous. But it wasn’t subtle enough for Adam to miss. He felt a miniature surge of pride swelling somewhere inside him. Ronan Lynch just checked him out. Ronan Lynch just checked him out while he was grimy and disgusting and wearing an unflattering pair of coveralls. 

Adam got in the car. 

He didn’t realize that it had started to get chilly outside until he shut the door to the BMW behind him, sealing himself into the dark, warm interior of the car. The passenger seat was blissfully comfortable after a shift spent hunched over an engine. This was only the second time he’d rode in Ronan’s car, just the two of them. Once or twice he’d been picked up from work before, Gansey and Ronan a two-headed entity in the front seat, arguing over dinner arrangements. 

He was glad to be alone with Ronan. Since the fiasco, two weeks behind them, spending time with Ronan when their friends were all together felt uncomfortable. It was a side effect of all the exchanged glances from Gansey and Blue, or even Noah’s expression that seemed to say  _ I knew the whole time, and I knew to keep my mouth shut.  _ Adam felt like he couldn’t look at Ronan for more than three seconds without getting a raised eyebrow. He felt watched, and he didn’t particularly enjoy it. 

“You smell like my car just threw up.” Ronan said, as a greeting. 

So it was noticeable that he smelled like gasoline. If anyone else had said it, Adam might’ve been embarrassed, but he felt a pinch of annoyance instead. 

“Observant.” Adam muttered. “I’m a mechanic.” 

“You have something on your face.” Ronan told him. He was looking intently at Adam’s face, and Adam wiped at his cheek with the back of his hand. Ronan shook his head, which meant it must still be there. 

“Where?”   
“Here.” Ronan tapped a spot above his own eyebrow, and Adam mirrored his action, scrubbing at one of his fair brows. Ronan frowned at him. 

“It’s still there.” 

Adam rubbed at his face again. “What is it?” 

“I don’t know?” Ronan replied. “Car stuff━” 

Adam was still trying to get whatever it was off his face. Grease, probably. How he managed to get it on his face was beyond him. 

Ronan sighed. “━You keep missing it, just...” 

Ronan cut himself off, swiping at Adam’s forehead with a thumb, leaning closer over the gearshift. His face was perilously close to Adam’s, concentration furrowing his dark brows. Adam could see Ronan’s stubble, each individual eyelash. Adam’s face felt hot all of a sudden. He didn’t want to breathe with Ronan this close. Did his breath smell bad? He had drunk coffee earlier, so he knew it probably didn’t smell good. But he smelled like gasoline and gasoline probably didn’t smell good to Ronan, either━

Ronan tucked a stray piece of Adam’s hair behind his ear, and leaned away again. His expression was nearly impossible to read. Adam felt shaky all of a sudden, his skin burning where Ronan had touched him. He could hear his heartbeat in his hearing ear, roaring like a turbulent sea. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from Ronan. 

His mouth felt dry. “Did you get it?” 

Ronan turned his head to look at the steering wheel. “Yeah. I think.” 

He fiddled with a knob on the stereo, studiously avoiding Adam’s gaze, until a subdued electronic song poured from the speakers. He sat like that without any indication he planned to shift the car from park, fidgeting with the settings of the bass and the treble until he asked: “Why are you working all the time, anyway?”

His tone was casual, but carefully even. This was a question that had been queued up, and it made Adam uneasy, but he wanted to tell the truth. The idea of telling Ronan didn’t make him sick, the way it might have if it was Tad, or any of his other classmates. He hadn’t told anyone about his family, or his father, or what his home carried for him. It was a secret, of sorts, a burden in the cavern of his chest. 

His palms felt sweaty, so he braced them on his jean clad thighs. “I uh- I have a grant to be here.” He swallowed. “At UVA.” 

Ronan nodded. Adam continued: “I used to have more jobs, in high school, but I only need this one now.” 

“I knew you had a scholarship. Like Sargent.” Ronan was avoiding his gaze, which was unfair because he had been the one to ask. “Didn’t know you were fucking genius enough to have a grant.” 

“I worked hard to get here.” Adam admitted. He was proud of that, at least. It was less painful to talk about. “I really wanted to leave my hometown.”

“Opposite of me.” Ronan shifted out of park. “I wanted to be a farmer.” 

This surprised Adam, and he laughed incredulously as Ronan pulled out of the lot. Ronan wasn’t laughing, though, and when Adam noticed, he quickly schooled his expression. “Huh. I didn’t have you pegged as the farming type.” 

“I grew up on a farm.” 

Adam remembered this. Ronan had told him the night they met, in a professor's garden. There was a strange and wistful twist in his chest. He looked out the window to the street lights blurring past him on the road. 

“You told me, once. Do you think cows will appreciate your knowledge of Virgil texts?” 

“Non omnia possumus omnes.” Ronan said.  _ Not everyone can do everything.  _

Adam snorted. “Such little faith in cows.” He snuck a glance at Ronan to find the other young man smiling thinly.

Ronan had to keep his eyes on the road, but Adam didn’t. Tail lights from the car in front of them washed Ronan’s face in red light. Ronan had asked him a question. It was fair for Adam to ask one back. He had seen Ronan leaving the house, almost every Sunday since he moved in, and if he didn’t see Ronan when he woke, it meant he was already gone. 

“Why do you go to church every weekend?” 

Ronan was silent a moment, the soft electronica and the traffic around them filling the quiet he left. He said: “My brothers drive down from DC for church. It’s the only time I see them.” 

_ Ah.  _ Adam knew Ronan had brothers, and he knew they went to church together, but he didn’t know that was  _ why  _ Ronan went to church. He’d gotten the impression that Ronan had a complicated relationship with his brothers. He wondered, if that was the case, why Ronan went to the effort to go see them every weekend. 

Adam leaned his elbow against the armrest built into the car door, and rested his chin in his hand. “What’re they like?” 

Ronan’s jaw worked like he was deciding whether or not to talk. The song switched to something new, still electronic- but without any lyrics and the addition of a steel drum. They stopped at a red light. 

“Matthew’s into sweaty shit. Lacrosse. He’s a freshman at Georgetown. Declan is an aspiring politician.” He said this last bit with a disdainful sneer. So  _ Declan _ was the complication. Adam was curious, but he felt he’d pried enough, and let it slide. The light turned green and Ronan drove.

After a moment, he asked: “What about you, Parrish. Got any family?” 

This was the question he’d been dreading, a variation of the question he’d be asked at the holidays, over and over again. He could practically hear his advisors voice “ _ are you heading back to Allegheny for the break? _ ” He was on his third year, and the answer never changed. Of course he wasn’t going home. Home broke his bones and beat the sound out of one ear. Home choked him, covered him in scars, spat him out believing no one would ever love him. Home was the voice in his head that told him he’d never be good enough- and he didn’t have to go anywhere for that to change. He carried that piece of home inside him every day. 

Adam swallowed. He felt a little sick to his stomach, and reminded himself he didn't have to tell the truth— at least not all of it. He said: “I haven't seen my parents in a couple years. I don’t really know how they’re doing.” A silence stretched thick in the car, and he waited for Ronan to ask him why, but the question never came. He let out a breath. He picked at a fraying thread on his coveralls. He looked out the window: “I don’t want to know how they’re doing.”

It was the closest he’d come to admitting the whole truth about his family to anyone. 

Ronan accepted this with silence, but Adam watched his expression turn complicated. For a few minutes they drove, the music cranked high enough that Adam could feel the bass in his feet. 

Eventually, Ronan said: “You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to.” 

“I want to tell you.” Adam replied. If he were to tell anyone it would be Ronan. He just wasn’t ready to tell the whole story, wasn’t steady enough to lay out all his damaged pieces for someone else to see. There were things he’d never told anyone. 

He said: “I’ll tell you about it, some time. I’m too tired tonight.” 

The truth was, Adam was too afraid. 

They drove home. 

✕

Back at the house, they found Blue and Gansey crammed into an armchair despite the fact that there was plenty of room on the couch, while Henry and Noah sat in the kitchen, microwaving popcorn and throwing pieces of it at each other instead of eating any. Blue revealed that they were going to watch  _ The Lobster _ , and then  _ Over The Garden Wall _ , a cartoon series that Gansey, for some reason, endorsed heartily. Adam hadn’t heard of either of them before, but he was relieved they weren’t having another screening of  _ Monty Python and the Holy Grail _ . 

After changing out of his work clothes, Adam curled up on the couch with a lumpy, soft knit blanket that had been lying on the floor. He was exhausted. Ronan sat next to him, close enough that their shoulders touched, and Blue gave Adam a  _ look _ . He ignored it. He and Ronan were allowed to sit next to each other. They were adults, and their friends weren’t chaperones at a middle school dance. He slumped further into the couch. His shoulder was pressed against Ronan’s and he got the distinct sense that he was somehow trying to make Adam feel better about their talk in the car. 

Adam wasn’t upset. He felt a little like he’d just thrown up, though. He appreciated Ronan’s presence. 

When Henry and Noah finished making popcorn and joined them in the living room, (Henry, sprawled on the floor and surrounded by pillows, Noah perched on the arm of the couch) they turned off the lights, and started the movie. It was an indie film that Blue had requested, like Ronan guessed, but Adam was too distracted to properly enjoy it. He kept on replaying Ronan’s actions in the car. The way he’d talked. How Ronan had touched his face, so easily, just leaning over to get the grease off his forehead. It reminded him distinctly of the night they’d met, when he had chocolate on his face, and Ronan had gotten that off his mouth, too.

That time, Ronan had been flirting with him. 

He couldn’t tell if Ronan was flirting with him now. 

Adam  _ wanted  _ Ronan to be flirting with him, and it scared him a little. 

He told Ronan he was going to tell him the truth one day. He let Ronan touch his face and ask him questions, and tease him about how he smelled after work; and none of it really got under his skin. He knew if it was anyone else it would make him uncomfortable. If it was anyone else he would’ve deflected the conversation elsewhere as soon as they mentioned family. 

Without turning his head, Adam looked to see if anyone was watching him or Ronan, but Henry, Blue, and Gansey were all paying attention to the movie. Noah had quietly disappeared, returning to his room, or wherever else he went. The protagonist on screen was crying. 

Adam liked Ronan, and he was starting to realize the fullness of it. He didn’t like Ronan just because he was hot. He liked Ronan because he was honest and unflinching. He liked Ronan because he quoted virgil and hated phones and cared about his friends. He liked Ronan more and more each time he found out something new. 

In the dark, he felt strangely bold, strangely significant. He let his head slump against Ronan, his cheek pressed comfortably into the skin of Ronan’s shoulder. Adam told himself:  _ don’t play with this.  _ It didn’t feel like a game. He had forgotten that Ronan was wearing a tank top. He’d forgotten how warm, how vital and living Ronan was. His skin smelled like expensive, organic soap. 

Adam just wanted to be closer. Hiding under the lumpy blanket, he found Ronan’s hand in the dark, cheating by tracing a line from his shoulder to his wrist bone. In the wake of his touch, he felt goosebumps rising on Ronan’s skin, and he had to bite the inside of his cheek.  _ What am I doing? _ Gently, Adam toyed with the leather bands on Ronan’s wrists, and was surprised to feel ridged skin under his fingers. 

Ronan had scars on his wrist. 

Adam could feel them, a large ropy one that went vertically up his arm, smaller ones littered underneath it, thin and precise. Ronan had fallen completely still under his fingertips. Adam was chilled. He could do the math, and he felt sick with the answer his mind supplied him.  _ Why would Ronan _ ━

His train of thought was interrupted. Ronan turned over Adam’s hand, his thumb pressed against Adam’s pulse. His heart skyrocketed, and he was sure Ronan could feel it. His cheeks heated and he was sure Ronan could feel that, too. He sagged even further into Ronan, and resisted the urge to bury his face in his shoulder. It was overwhelming, but he didn’t want it to stop. He’d found out too much in one night.

Ronan was playing with his fingers, curling them and uncurling them with his own. A curious heat pooled low in Adam’s stomach. It was unfair. Abruptly, he felt suffocatingly warm under the blanket. 

Adam looked around again- their friends were still focused on the movie. At some point they’d switched it to a cartoon about two brothers lost in the woods, and he hadn’t even noticed. Ronan was looking at the television screen, feigning interest, even as he traced a vein on Adam’s knuckle. He felt like his face was on fire. No one was watching them. 

Adam shifted on the couch, lying down. He used Ronan’s thigh as a pillow and threw the blanket over himself, closing his eyes. He could hear his heartbeat thundering again, hear the dialogue from the show his friends were watching. Ronan tucked Adam’s hair behind his ear, a repeat of earlier, and this time Adam shivered at the gesture. Ronan’s hand stilled, paralyzed on the nape of Adam’s neck, and Adam wished there was a non-embarrassing way to tell him not to stop. 

He felt warm and tired. It was so rare for anyone to touch Adam like this- casually, comfortably. Like they really wanted to. They hadn’t spoken of this. He wanted to curl into the slow heat of it. He wanted Ronan to touch him again. 

Ronan did; running his fingers through Adam’s hair, the sensation bleeding into his scalp. Adam let out a shaky, quiet breath. His insides were turning raw. He felt held together and flung apart in the palm of Ronan’s hand. He didn’t want whatever show the others were watching to end. He just wanted to stay here, in the dark, with Ronan touching him. 

By the time the show finished, Adam had fallen asleep. 

✕

When Adam woke, he was upstairs in his tiny little bedroom with the slanted ceiling. His phone told him it was 2am. He had no memory of coming upstairs, and the last clear image in his mind remained Ronan, playing with his hair, watching cartoons downstairs. He was too tired and groggy to analyze, to think about whatever he’d been doing with Ronan, however he got upstairs to his bed. 

He fell back asleep. 

In the way that one doesn’t know that they’re dreaming while they’re dreaming, Adam walked through a dead wood. It was hard to tell if it was winter, or if it was simply gray and dried up with grief. The air was silent as a battlefield made history, dry and harsh in his lungs. He couldn’t tell if it was hot out, or if it was freezing. 

He was alone- or so he thought. 

“Adam?” 

He turned around and there was Ronan, wearing a tank top as per usual, with a pair of black sweats. His feet were bare. Adam thought the ground should’ve hurt to stand on, uneven and jagged with broken branches and sharp pebbles, but the only thing Ronan seemed concerned with was Adam’s existence. He asked: “What are you doing here?” 

Adam shrugged. He put his hands in the pockets of his pants, and felt something cool and metallic in his palm. He pulled it out to see it was a broken pocket watch, the glass face cracked with spidery lines. He had the strangest sensation he’d seen it somewhere before. 

“Where did you get that?” Ronan was staring at it like Adam had pulled a gun from his pants, not a broken trinket. 

“It was in my pocket.” Adam’s brow furrowed. “Is it yours?” 

Ronan was staring at it. His expression had shifted in such a way that Adam could instantly tell it belonged to him, and that he didn’t want to take ownership of the object. The pocketwatch felt suddenly heavy in his palm, weighted like a stone. He stretched it out to Ronan, and reluctantly, the other young man took it from him. 

Then, Ronan smashed it into a rock on the ground. 

Somehow, Adam was unsurprised by this course of action. He tilted his head to consider the object as Ronan made a thick dent in the back of it   

He asked: “What does it do?” 

Ronan was focused on handling the pocket watch, and didn’t answer until he’d finished smashing the face of it against a rock a few more times, shattering the glass so thoroughly that you couldn’t see the time inside. He told Adam: “It fucks with your head.” He smashed it one more time against the rock, and then buried the broken remains in the ashy soil. 

Adam thought this was not a particularly helpful way to get rid of something that, to quote Ronan, “fucks with your head” but it wasn’t his pocket watch to get rid of. Also, it felt a bit like littering, even if the forest was dead. 

Adam shuffled a few dried-up leaves over the corpse of the pocket watch with his foot, and said to Ronan: “Why are you here?” 

Ronan had still been watching him warily, like Adam was an anomaly. At this, he raised a sharp eyebrow. “I’m here every night.” 

“That’s funny,” Adam remarked. “I never see you when I visit.” 

And as soon as he said it, he remembered all the other times he’d visited the forest in his sleep, and found it didn’t match the scene before him. It was supposed to be green and living, water dripping over leaves, moss clinging to every surface. The trees were supposed to tell him secrets that he forgot. Not once in his nights of dreaming had it ever been gray, had it ever been dead like this. 

Adam knelt down in the dirt, and the empty branches seemed to sigh, but no wind had rattled the copse of trees. Ronan was watching him, but this felt insignificant. He knew he was looking for something. He didn’t know what he was supposed to be looking for. He cleared aside branches and leaves, and found nothing but empty soil. It was grey, dusty, uninhabitable, but the moment he touched it, the soil began to turn black. 

Not the black of artificially colored paints, or the black of decay. It was the black between stars. The black of rich earth, life after death. 

Wild violets began to grow out of the dirt, and Adam stared, fascinated. It was like watching a stop-motion animation, faster than was possible, faster than was  _ real _ \- they began to bloom. Tiny, purple petals unfurled. 

Ronan watched, too. His expression was dubious. 

Adam was still sitting in the dirt. The violets had not gone away when he blinked at them. They did not grow anymore, either. They remained in the stasis of vibrant life after a full bloom. He wondered if they would ever wilt in this forest. Without looking, Adam plucked a violet and passed it over to Ronan. 

He asked: “How do I wake up?” 

✕

While Adam slept fitfully in his room, Ronan woke up next door. He had the bloom of a single wild violet in his hand. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well, this is the longest chapter of fsfyh so far, and i wrote it in three weeks instead of my usual range of like.. a month to two months haha. it also happens to be my favorite chapter i've written so far!!! i hope you guys enjoyed it, too.  
> i'll be out of the country next week so i might not have as much writing time as i'll be on fall break + travelling! (somehow when i'm on breaks i'm too busy doing things to actually get work done.) the speed of this update was an anomaly that i'm mostly attributing to an influx of motivation due to some wonderful comments from my readers, as well as a playlist that burn_it_slow made (which, by the way, it's incredible. i can't listen to it while writing bc i get too distracted enjoying it.) and two edits from some lovely friends on tumblr!! (thank you so much nicki - @gansaey and isa - @glyndwrr, i love you both dearly <3)  
> anyways, thank you guys so much for the wonderful comments last time, they truly made this update come faster. on a side note to anyone interested in the making of the fic.. the music mentioned that ronan and adam listened to in the car was obvs by jamie xx. i listened to in colour a lot while writing this chapter, as well as wet's album, dont you.  
> BIG THANKS TO GRACE AKA @thewarlocksbitch on tumblr and ao3 for betaing this chap!! she's a godsend who fixed all my tiny mistakes and got me to make my sentences less awkward.  
> love you guys!! hope you enjoy the chapter <3 if you want to chat i'm @admlynch on tumblr and @rnanparrish on twitter


	10. such a subtle sting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ronan and adam have breakfast. ronan goes to class. adam and blue go grocery shopping.

_Inside your smile, I'm unraveling_   
_Caught within your stare_   
_Within your touch, such a subtle sting_

\-- deep, marian hill

When Ronan was very young, his mother had taught him that wild violets were edible. So now, out of a strange sort of nostalgia and grief for Aurora, he plucked off the petals of the dreamt violet. Instead of eating them, he let the petals slip through his fingers and fall to the floor next to his bed. His body felt heavy, anchored to the sheets by exhaustion. Chainsaw croaked at him curiously from her nest of shredded papers. Somehow, she always knew when he was awake.

He wondered what it meant that he’d been dreaming about Adam. It was unsurprising, he’d had a few dreams _about_ Adam before, but he’d never seemed so present in any of them. Ronan didn’t know what to make of his earnest conversation, or the calculating look on his face when he’d watched Ronan break the pocket watch- like he was weighing the pros and cons of the action. It was such a true expression, one he’d seen on Adam’s face a multitude of times before. He was a little unsettled by how accurate his dreams were becoming.

Ronan hoped he would always be able to tell the difference between waking and sleeping, but he walked a thin line.

He rolled over in bed. He needed to get back to sleep, but already a thin restlessness crawled under his skin. Itchy, hot. He kicked his sheets down and sat up to crack open a window. Chainsaw clicked her beak at him. Ronan didn’t dignify this with a response. He heard the whump of a wing beat, enough to carry her across the room, and then Chainsaw settled heavily on his shoulder. Her grip was careful, so as not to cut him with her talons, but Ronan still felt a little pinch as he pushed open the window.

He deposited her carefully onto his bed, and sternly told her: “Do _not_ shit on the sheets.”

Chainsaw just watched him, tilting her head to look at him better. Ronan tried to go back to sleep then, the chilly fall air leaking in through the window, soothing his hot skin. He drifted fitfully, unable to truly scratch the surface of sleep, instead lurking at a resting threshold. Hours passed this way. He woke up, read an article about a band he liked on the night-bright glow of his phone, dropped it on the floor and rolled over again. This time he pulled up his sheets. Chainsaw had perched on the windowsill, looming over him eerily in the dark. He was too tired to acknowledge her creepiness.

Ronan failed to go back to sleep, truly. He stayed in bed until seven, lying with his eyes shut. His insomnia had reared its ugly head again, and he wasn’t happy about it, but there was little to be done. Sleeping aids kept him from dreaming, and he had become less and less interested in seeking out thrills in the night. It wasn’t worth it with Kavinsky back in town.

✕

Ronan went downstairs a little before nine, after letting Chainsaw out. He didn’t have a class until eleven, but Henry, Gansey, and Blue were already gone. He’d heard them making breakfast earlier, and departing in a flurry of activity a floor below. Adam was probably still sleeping- his room was the closest to Ronan’s, but Ronan hadn’t seen or heard any signs of him stirring. This meant they were alone, unless Noah was around-  but most mornings he kept to himself.

The kitchen was quiet when Ronan wandered in. Bowls of water with cereal crumbs floating inside them were piled high in the sink. An empty yogurt container was discarded on the counter. There were three dirty spoons on the table, and he scowled at them. Usually, his housemates were good about cleaning up after themselves, but they must have been rushing this morning. It annoyed him - namely because someone had to do the dishes, and he was the only one left.

It was something to do, though. Ronan had been unoccupied for hours, and he was relieved to have an activity to distract himself, even if it was a set of menial chores. He emptied the bowls, threw out the yogurt, and rinsed the spoons before putting it all in the dishwasher and starting a load. It didn’t take him long, and it would still be nearly two hours before his first class. He felt restless and high strung, even after the sleepless night.

He wanted to break something.

Ronan pressed a fist hard against the kitchen counter, watched his knuckles turn white. He thought about his dream again and the way the violets had grown, straining around Adam’s wrists like they wanted something from him. He thought of the empty desolation of Cabeswater, his night horrors, the nightmare-thing K wanted from him.

He needed to do something so he wouldn’t think about it.

In the green house, everyone ate copious amounts of bagels or cereal. Breakfast was an afterthought, often a meal snatched or skipped. Sometimes on weekends, one of them would brave making pancakes, but it was more likely that they would be eating leftovers for a morning meal. Cold chinese take out. Mac and cheese reheated in the microwave. Day-old pizza.

He hadn’t cooked a real meal since before his mother died. Maybe even before his father had been killed.

It was unusual for any of them to really cook, and unusual to have a real breakfast unless they went out. There were eggs in the fridge, though, and bacon, and the bread with cheese baked into it that Gansey always bought at Whole Foods. Ronan didn’t have anything better to do, and he needed to keep himself occupied.

He made breakfast.

Fifteen minutes or half an hour later, as Ronan flipped bacon and cursed at the grease jumping out the pan, Adam came downstairs. He looked surprised to find Ronan at the stove, either because he was surprised to see him cooking, or surprised to see him awake more than 15 minutes prior to his first class.

Ronan eyed Adam as he perched  on the kitchen counter, expression curious. He was looking at the pan. His dusty hair stuck up at odd angles, and Ronan had a strange urge to fuss over it, smooth down the erratic spikes. Adam was still wearing yesterday’s clothing, the outfit he’d fallen asleep in on the couch. It was thoroughly rumpled from a night’s rest. Ronan remembered Adam leaning into his side, touching his wrist, falling asleep against him. He remembered touching the calluses on Adam’s hands, running his fingers through Adam’s hair as his breathing slowed.

Adam craned his neck ineffectively to try and see into the pan. He asked: “Is that bacon?”

Ronan poked at the bacon with a fork, and it sizzled loudly. Wryly, he replied: “Great observation skills, Einstein.”

Adam shot Ronan a withering look, and Ronan saved himself. “Do you want eggs?”

“Since when do you cook?” Adam hopped off the counter and crossed the kitchen floor to hover over the food. His stomach grumbled, loudly, and Ronan watched as Adam covered his stomach with a hand like that would silence it. He had the strangest impression that Adam was familiar with hunger, and knew how to soothe it like a phantom ache.

“Since this morning.” Ronan replied, short. And then, again: “Do you want eggs?”

“Uh-” Adam hesitated, and Ronan watched the cogs of his mind turning it over. “Sure. If it’s not too much trouble.”

Ronan gave him a long-suffering look. “I’ve got the time, Parrish. I wouldn’t offer if it bothered me.”

Adam accepted this with a nod, and Ronan thought he saw the tips of his ears turning pink, but it probably didn’t mean anything. He could just be embarrassed. Ronan knew Adam wasn’t very good at accepting help, or accepting gifts- even when they were small things like this. Things Ronan didn’t even think about offering.

It had taken him a while to pick up on it. The way Adam hesitated too long to take a coffee when Ronan made two. The habit of busying himself with something helpful as soon as anyone did something nice for him. It was like Adam thought he _owed_ everyone for their kindness. Or maybe he just didn’t want it. Either way, Ronan had noticed how Adam prided himself on independence, and remained skeptical to anything else. He knew not to push it.

In the corner of his vision, Adam occupied himself making coffee. Ronan finished the bacon and scrambled enough eggs for the two of them in the grease, while Adam poured the coffee into two tall mugs, and fiddled with the knob on the radio. A gratuitous pop song filtered through the battered stereo, and he changed the station until he came to something more agreeable. A few slow, easy minutes passed this way.

Ronan abandoned the food as soon as it was finished, and came up behind Adam to steal a sip of one of the coffees. It was bitter, torturously so. He hadn’t realized it was black, and he made a face, and then an exaggerated coughing noise, setting it back down on the counter. Adam had turned just in time to see Ronan’s grimace, and he laughed.

Ronan frowned at him, stuck his fingers into the coffee, and flicked tiny drops of it into Adam’s face.

Adam shot Ronan a look as if to say _Really?_ As he wiped his hands over his face, he told him: “Juvenile, Lynch.”

“Yeah,” Ronan replied. He licked the coffee off his fingers, and made a face again. “I am.” Adam’s mouth twitched, plainly amused by Ronan’s intolerance for black coffee. His eyes lingered on Ronan’s mouth for a beat, and Ronan felt his heart like a kickdrum in his chest.

“It’s better to leave your coffee black than to add too much sugar.” Adam reasoned, taking a sip of his own drink. It was black. In self defense, Ronan turned and poured an obscene amount of agave in his own.

He said: “I’m not a masochist, thanks though, Parrish.”

Adam rolled his eyes spectacularly. It was a strangely perfect eyeroll, equal parts annoyance and mirth. From anyone else it would have annoyed Ronan, but he liked it on Adam. He liked his sarcasm and his sharp wit. He liked the quiet way he thought things through, the way his smile split him open and changed his face entirely. He liked Adam’s company.

There was a loud gurgling sound, and Adam’s face went pink. Ronan realized it was his stomach again. He turned back to the food, and rummaged in the cupboard for a plate. Filling it with a healthy serving of eggs and bacon, he shoved it at Adam.

“Your stomach sounds like a broken dishwasher, man.”

Adam frowned at Ronan, annoyed, but he took a fork from the kitchen drawer and started eating anyways. “Thanks.”

“No problem.” Ronan replied. “We could exploit your stomach growls to hollywood. Record them and use them for monster noises in shitty TV shows. You’d make millions.”

This display of questionable humor must have surprised Adam, because he snorted around a mouthful of food, and then covered his mouth with his hand. He set down his fork and settled himself at the table.  Shaking his head at Ronan, he told him: “You’re the worst.” But Ronan thought he saw the corner of his mouth turning up.

“I’m creative.” Ronan said, grabbing his own food and sitting down at the kitchen table, long legs sprawled beneath.

“That’s what you call it?” Adam replied, raising an eyebrow. His non-smile had developed into a smirk. Ronan was annoyed by how attractive it made him. It was acutely unfair. Adam stabbed another bite of his eggs, and when he spoke again his voice lifted curiously. “This is actually good.”

“Surprised?” Ronan asked, sneering just a little. He felt strangely defensive. Under the table, Adam’s ankle snuck against Ronan’s foot. The sensation of it prickled under his skin pleasantly. Ronan couldn’t tell if it was intentional or not- especially after last night. They hadn’t talked about it because Adam had fallen asleep, and Ronan had been planning to avoid the topic even if he hadn’t.

Adam shrugged with one shoulder. “Never seen you cook before.” His foot was climbing higher on Ronan’s leg, hooking around his calf. Ronan’s pulse jumped. _Jesus._ He thought. _Is he trying to kill me?_

Fighting an uphill battle for composure, Ronan managed: “Don’t get used to it, Parrish. We’ll be back to burnt toast and toxic teas from Gansey soon enough.”

Just the mention of the tea Gansey made was enough to make Adam grimace. He had been a victim to Gansey’s inability to cook shortly after he moved in.

“How do you mess up tea that badly?”

“It’s a talent.” Ronan said. Adam’s foot was still wrapped around his leg, pressing absently against his calf. It was a strange, nearly invisible sort of touch, but any strand of rational thought he could cling to was unravelling quickly as it travelled higher. Ronan knew it had to be an accident. He felt like he’d been set on fire, for multiple different reasons.

“You should save us from his cooking more often.” Adam remarked, taking another bite of eggs.

Ronan swallowed thickly, easily distracted by Adam’s touch under the table. His face felt hot, and he swallowed down the urge to pull away. Instead, he bumped his knee into Adam’s other leg. The one that wasn’t currently touching him. “Can’t cook anything but breakfast. You’re shit out of luck, Parrish.”

Adam was smiling in earnest now. It transformed his face so entirely, it was hard to remember him any other way, and Ronan felt something tug in his chest. _Stupid._ Ronan thought, and then untangled Adam’s leg from his, opting to knock their ankles together instead. He couldn’t make himself pull away, not entirely. Adam’s ears were turning a ruddy pink, and he opened his mouth like he was going to say something━

_BZZZZZZZZZ_

A phone began to vibrate, loud and discordant.

Adam stood from his chair, and picked it up off the counter, curious. He ran a hand through his hair, and it stuck up even more. “Shit,” His phone was practically buzzing out of his hands. Ronan hadn’t even noticed he’d brought it downstairs.

Adam looked at the screen, a tense wrinkle appearing between his brows. He pressed a button and it stopped buzzing- it had to be an alarm. “I have a meeting with my advisor now. I forgot it was today.”

Ronan swallowed, his nerves still frayed from their closeness. He could still picture the shape of Adam’s smiling mouth. The spray of freckles across the bridge of his nose and elegant cheekbones.

He forced himself to act casual, leaning back in his chair. “I’m not keeping you here, Parrish.” He waved a hand like he might shoo Chainsaw. “Go on. Take a bagel if you’re still hungry.”

Adam, instead, grabbed an apple from the bowl of fruit on the counter. He touched Ronan’s shoulder on his way out, just a barely-there press of his fingertips. “I’ll see you later, Lynch.” Over his shoulder, he added. “Thanks for breakfast.”

Somehow, it made Ronan’s neck burn.

✕

Classes were always boring, but some of them happened to be boring _and_ annoying. These were generally the classes he shared with Kavinsky and Kavinsky’s friends. Namely, a dull class on Sallust, where Skov often threw tiny, crumpled pieces of paper at the back of his head. Once, he’d managed to fill the hood of Ronan’s jacket with paper, and if it had been anyone else, Ronan might’ve laughed. Instead, he glared at Skov any time he saw him for the next three weeks.

Today, Kavinsky was absent, but a few of his cronies sat behind Ronan, the weight of their presence like a ball and chain. Prokopenko and Skov had begun trying to construct a pyramid out of a series of folded sheets of paper the instant they got to class. Judging by the quiet, muttered curses he heard every few minutes- they were still trying and failing on their endeavour. It wasn’t a huge class, but sitting near the back of the lecture hall was enough to hide their misdemeanours.

The professor droned. He was a spritely, older man who wore glasses that made him look like an owl. Ronan disliked him on principle. He picked anxiously at the scabs on his knuckles from the last nightmare he’d had. They were a few days old, but he had a terrible habit of peeling them off frequently enough that they were slow to heal. With only twenty more minutes until the lecture ended, he had long since given up on taking notes. Even now he knew he would bullshit his essay, and cram for finals if he studied at all. It felt useless to be here.

He slumped gracelessly in his chair, and tilted his head back to look at the popcorn ceiling, painting himself a portrait of insolence. He wondered, if he wasn’t here, what would he do instead? Visit Matthew. Go back to The Barns. Take the BMW and drive from rockfish gap to swift run, over the thin spine of the mountains. Maybe, he thought, he would talk to Adam. Maybe, he thought, he would tell Adam the truth.

The idea of it made him uncomfortable, if not nervous. He’d been avoiding telling Adam about his dreaming for so long now that it felt harder to explain. An impossible task for an impossible ability. He wondered if it would scare Adam, but he couldn’t imagine it. If anything, Adam would want to figure him out, ask _why_ he could take things from his dreams. There was a chance that nothing would change if he told him- but Ronan was more and more aware of Adam’s actions. Of his own actions.

They were at a stand still, and Ronan could see the shape around the words, even if neither of them had said it. Ronan knew. He was sure Adam knew. Adam was too smart to not have it figured out by now. There was the implied sentence hanging at the end of every gesture, every simple interaction:

_I still want you._

Maybe Ronan was overthinking it.

Skov tapped him on the shoulder, and he was so absorbed in his thoughts that he actually jolted in his chair. The leg of the chair made a strange scuffling sound against the floor, and a few other students glanced at him. The professor either didn’t notice, or remained unphased. He continued to lecture in his dull, monotonous tone as Ronan turned to glare at Skov.

“What.” He hissed, keeping his voice low.

Skov’s expression was placid. He was turning a pencil over and over in his hands, too sharp to have been used the entire class. “Heard you and Parrish are going out now.”

This was not correct, to Ronan’s knowledge, and his face felt hotter. He scowled to compensate. He couldn't tell if he was pissed, or embarrassed, or annoyed that he was apparently so transparent. He didn’t even know how Skov could possibly know Adam. If it weren’t for Gansey, _Ronan_ wouldn’t know Adam. His scowl deepened.

“Fuck off.”

“Cute,” Prokopenko interjected, listening in from his spot beside Skov. It made Ronan angrier, and he turned away from the pair of them, pretending to write notes, hoping it would make them shut up.

Skov threw a piece of paper at his head.

“It’s none of your goddamn business,” Ronan snapped, louder than he should have. A few students looked up from their furious note-writing, and the professor even paused for an instant, his bulbous owl-eyes flicking up towards Ronan in the back. A girl two seats over from him rolled her eyes at Ronan, and shot him a poisonous look. She, clearly, was trying to learn, her long nails tapping quickly over a sleek laptop’s keyboard. He didn’t know her well enough to interpret the glare, but he guessed it meant something along the lines of _stop talking about your boring love life in class._

Ronan sneered at her unkindly, and she rolled her eyes again, unaffected. Ronan decided he didn’t like her. He spent the rest of class drawing tiny, unflattering portraits of their professor, and ignoring Skov, who continued throwing tiny pieces of paper at the back of his head.

As soon as they were dismissed, Ronan bolted from his seat. Other students might sit and talk with their friends, or stop to heckle the professor with questions on the homework, but not Ronan. He wanted to get as far away from the lecture hall as he could. The stale scent of wood varnish felt like it was choking him.

He made it outside into the mid-october air, free, relieved- until Skov appeared behind him. Ronan was suddenly irritable again. He tried to stalk off towards the quad, but Skov matched his pace.

Ronan stopped on the bottom of the steps. “What the fuck do you want?”

“Nothing,” Skov rolled his eyes, and took a step back. They were blocking half the staircase. “You’re so defensive. I’m just trying to figure out if you and Parrish are dating.”

Annoyed, Ronan crossed his arms over his chest. “Why does it matter?”

He was starting to get cold. Expecting to book it back to the house, or to crash in one of the study areas of the rotunda, he’d abandoned his jacket in his backpack. Getting ambushed by one of Kavinsky’s cronies wasn’t on his agenda.

“It doesn’t, jesus, Lynch I’m trying to help you.” Skov’s hair looked greasy, and he ran a frustrated hand through it. “K wants to fuck with Parrish, if he thinks it’ll mess with you.”

Dread crept it’s way into Ronan’s veins, dropping in his stomach like a stone. He didn’t trust Skov. Twisting his wristbands tight, he said: “You’re full of shit.”

“Whatever, man.” Another eyeroll, careless, unbothered. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” He turned to leave, but Ronan wasn’t finished yet. He grabbed Skov’s wrist.

“Why would you even tell me this shit? You’re friends with Kavinsky.”

Skov looked at him like he was slow. “You think any of us like him chasing you? He’s our friend, fucked up as he is. I think he should give up on you. Trying to hurt you, trying to hurt Parrish- we both know it isn’t going to get him anywhere.”

Skov pulled a pack of cigarettes and his lighter from his backpack, lighting a stick. His hands were shaky as he took a drag. “Don’t know why he’s so obsessed with you. But I can’t make him stop,” He shrugged. “Maybe you’ll figure out how to get him to fuck off. Better for all of us that way.”

Without giving Ronan a chance to reply, he stalked back up the stairs and into Cocke hall.

Ronan was alone now, with information he didn’t want. As long as K held Ronan’s secrets over him, he was untouchable. It was one thing to go to a shitty Halloween party, dream something bloody, and leave, but it  was an entirely different story if Skov was telling the truth. If K was truly planning to hurt Adam, hurt any of his friends…. Ronan didn’t know what he’d do. Anything, probably, to keep them out of this. The scar on his elbow hurt, suddenly, a phantom ache of asphalt. He could smell the acrid gasoline and burnt plastic of a car crash.

He’d nearly died, the last time he let K really dig his claws in.

He thought he might be willing to do it again, if it meant his friends were safe.

✕

[ Ronan: ] _why do the shits in my sallust class think we’re dating_

Adam got a text, and became promptly annoyed with Henry Cheng. Ahead of him in the _Cookies and Baking Supplies !_ Aisle, Blue turned back to glance at him. They were currently grocery shopping at Wegmans. She held a pack of Oreos, and waved them at him, dragging his attention back up from the screen of his phone.

He tucked it in his pocket, but he was unable to school his expression into a smile. He could feel his mouth tugged down, his eyebrows tense on his face.

“I thought we were getting pancake mix.” Adam said, walking over to examine the Oreos _2.50$_ , the price tag told him.

He hadn’t replied to Ronan yet. He wanted to, but instead he kept his attention on Blue. She was wearing a dress made out of an old sweater, cut at the knees. Her leggings were bright purple.

“I know,” Blue replied, thumbing over the price tags on the shelves of food. “But I thought it would be fun to get snacks. For the next movie night, or something.” She gave him a mischievous smile. “Plus, we can try to trick Gansey into eating something non-organic.”

Adam nodded, distracted. Blue took it for agreement, and stuck the cookies in the cart. It was one of the few frivolous items they’d decided to buy- the rest was frozen foods or boxed mac and cheese. Bread or milk or something incredibly boring like corn flakes. None of them really cooked.

Except Ronan, who apparently was a secret breakfast chef.

It had been a couple weeks since Ronan made breakfast, and they ate together and then Adam had to _leave._ He and Ronan had been fine since then. They did their laundry together, and bickered idly about the legality of having a pet raven. Adam kept finding excuses to touch him, and Ronan always sat closer to him on the couch than he needed to. Things were normal. Nothing had happened, and Adam couldn’t decide if it was a relief or not.

He couldn’t help himself. He checked his phone again. There wasn’t a new text from Ronan, which was neither surprising or disappointing. Adam finally replied:

[ Adam: ] _Uhg. Sorry. Henry told Tad Carruthers we were dating to get him off my back._

[ Adam: ] _I don’t think he knew Tad would spread it around._

A polite _read at 12:13pm_ notification popped up on his phone, and for a long moment nothing followed. Not even a typing bubble. Adam shoved his phone back into his pocket, and glanced up to find Blue. She was already at the other end of the aisle now, idly examining a case of cheap, plastic water bottles.

Probably, she was just waiting for him because when he approached, she quirked a dark brow and asked: “Preoccupied?”

He felt caught, his ears turning hot. Since his friends had found out about him and Ronan last spring, they’d been giving the pair of them never-ending shit in the form of smiles and teasing comments. It could be worse, but Adam still felt foolish and obvious when it came to Ronan. Having everyone else watching them didn’t make things any easier.

“Just marketing group stuff.” Adam lied. He didn’t want to mention Ronan, didn’t want to talk to anyone about him for fear of spilling his guts. How Adam felt about Ronan was something to handle with Ronan. Or something he wouldn’t handle at all.

“Ah,” Blue nodded sagely, and then began mimicking a telemarketer. “Finance! Advertising! We can teach you how to sell this product right!”

“Something like that.” Adam smiled, and his phone buzzed again in his pocket. There was no reason not to check it.

[ Ronan: ] _why did henry have to fend off tad carruthers_

Of course there was no punctuation. Adam bit his lip, and tapped out a short reply as he followed Blue through the aisles of food. (She had already moved on for a second loop of the store) It felt strange telling Ronan about Tad’s advances. It was the sort of thing he’d prefer to explain in person, if he had to explain it at all.

[ Adam: ] _Tad asked me out. Henry didn’t think my excuse for saying no would hold him off._

His phone told him: _Read at 12: 21_

“Adam,” His head snapped up from the phone. Blue asked: “Do you think we have everything?”

He quickly surveyed the food in the cart, his mind still on his conversation with Ronan. The fluorescent lights overhead gave everything a washed-out quality- the cart, the cheap linoleum floor. Even Blue’s hair looked flatter, somehow.

“I think so,” Adam said, and then dug through the cart to make sure they got coffee. “Yeah. We’re good. Unless Henry wants us to get stuff for the Halloween party.”

Blue rolled her eyes. “It’s in two weeks. Henry can wait.”

Gansey and Henry had been scheming a Halloween party for months now, but Adam hadn’t thought it was actually going to happen. They’d been talking about it so idly since August that it didn’t seem real. That changed when Gansey tried to buy them all matching costumes as the knights from _Monty Python and The Holy Grail_.

Adam had quickly opted out of that idea.

“Do you have a costume yet?”

Adam suspected Blue had been making an outfit for weeks already- but she was secretive about these sorts of things. To her, a costume was another piece of art- nearly as serious as a piece for her portfolio. She wouldn’t show anyone until it was finished. He was curious, though. Sometimes her normal clothing looked like a costume, so a _real_ costume on Halloween would certainly be something.

Blue glanced at him sidelong, like she knew why he was asking. “It’s not quite finished.” She picked at the chipped polish on her nails, smiling. They were a violent magenta today. “You have any ideas for your costume?”

Adam hadn’t really thought about it, and was suddenly struck by the strange idea that he’d have to get dressed up for this holiday, for the first time in over ten years. All his friends were going to wear costumes. All of them seemed excited about it. _Well_ , Adam amended to himself, _maybe not Ronan_.

Whenever anyone mentioned Halloween to Ronan, he became distant and moody in a way he hadn’t been since Adam first moved in. Before they’d even tried for a truce. He followed Blue, pushing the cart up to the front of the store to wait in a checkout line.

“I haven’t dressed up in a while,” Adam admitted. It was an understatement. He hadn’t dressed up since he was eight. “I don’t know.”

“You could be a fisherman.” Blue suggested lightly, parking them behind an old woman who was putting cat food, kale, and radishes on the grocery belt. “Wear one of your big lumpy sweaters and a pair of rain boots. We could find you a fake pipe to smoke.”

Adam laughed. He wasn’t sure if Blue was serious or not, but he appreciated it either way. Dressing up wasn’t an idea he’d entertained in a long, long time. He’d never had friends like this- friends that made him _want_ to dress up, even if it was just to humor them. “I’ll think about it.”

His phone buzzed in his pocket.

[ Ronan: ] _that shithead doesn’t deserve you anyways_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> surprise! i'm back lol!! i've had a really hard time with depression the past couple months, and i didn't really want to write this chapter (bc this chapter is literally. just here for the pacing) but! a month and a half later i'm back! after saying i was gonna go on i hiatus! 
> 
> haha that totally lasted. 
> 
> anyways.. i hope this chapter isn't a disappointment for you guys after such a long wait. i know it's a little shorter than usual, and honestly i'm not super happy with it- but i've been grappling with this chapter for so long that i'm just ready to set it free. it's unbeta-d this time bc i'm feeling impatient to post it, but thanks so much to grace (aka thewarlocksbitch on tumblr and ao3) for dealing with my writing whining and proofreading one of the scenes for me <3 you're a god send. also thanks to LydiaStJames for listening to me talk about writing and generally making me feel better about my Writing Woes (i.e my guilt about how slow i've been on this update). and tumblr user gansaey for always being supportive and excited about my writing (plus! today is her birthday. happy birthday nicki, <3<3<3 tried to update today for you) <3 
> 
> thank you guys so much for being patient. i don't know when the next update is going to be, because the holidays are busy and i'm travelling some (plus my outline for the new chapter is already... Long. might have to split it into two) but i'm really excited to start working on it bc... big things coming down the pipeline!!! hope you guys enjoy chapter 10 <3 <3 <3 
> 
> please leave a comment!!! they're seriously motivating as a writer. I swear the reason I updated chapter 9 so fast was bc i got so many nice comments on chapter 8 and it motivated me, lol. hope everyone is having a happy december + holiday season!!
> 
> if anyone wants to find me on other social media i'm @admlynch on tumblr and @rnanparrish on twitter!


	11. hold your gaze against mine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> there are two halloween parties and a kiss.

_ Turn your head to the side _

_ Hold your gaze against mine _

_ And there it is _

_ A mark of the divine _

━ the end of desire, MUNA

It was the weekend before Halloween, autumn coloring the trees on The Lawn, turning them orange-yellow-red against the backdrop of stately brick and white marble. Ronan wasn’t a fan of campus, generally biased against all things school-related, but he had to admit that UVA looked good this time of year. Blissfully, The Lawn was less busy than usual. There were only a few clusters of students: one group clearly taking advantage of the nice weather to study outdoors, another playing a rowdy game of frisbee. 

Ronan was waiting for Gansey. They were supposed to meet up for lunch, but they hadn’t decided where they were going yet. As long as they didn’t go to the dining hall, Ronan would be happy. His class ended half an hour before Gansey’s, so he’d camped out on the grass with his earbuds in and a copy of  _ The Aeneid _ in his hands. He’d read it countless times before, but that wasn’t the point. He just wanted to look busy. It was a message to all outsiders:  _ don’t try talking to me.  _

It wasn’t so bad to wait. Ronan looked for four leaf clovers in the grass, and pretended to read his book, listening to electronica. It was an easy way to pass the half hour until Gansey showed up, kicking his foot to get his attention. 

“Ronan,” Gansey said, and Ronan looked up, pulling out his earbuds out of his ears to loop them around his neck. 

Gansey was dressed for the shift to autumn weather in a thick, high-necked sweater that looked like it was swallowing him whole. “Lunch?” 

Ronan tucked a clover between the pages of his book and stood. “Anything but O’hill.” 

A wrinkle appeared between Gansey’s brow, and he frowned. “Blue and Henry are going to O’hill.”

“And I’m sure they can live without us for one meal,” Ronan replied.“Come on, man. I don’t want plastic-flavored chicken.” Gansey hesitated visibly, so Ronan tried to sway him. “We can try that dumpling place you’re always talking about.” 

Gansey seemed aware that he was being bribed, and he shot Ronan a knowing look. However, he accepted the compromise with a tilt of his chin. “Alright, but you can’t complain about the food there.” 

Ronan rolled his eyes, and lifted his arm to exchange a quick handshake with Gansey. “Deal.” 

It wasn’t a long walk to the restaurant. The corner, as usual, was busy with students and townies alike. A natural foods restaurant had a line out the door, while Insomnia Cookies was practically abandoned. As Ronan and Gansey walked past, Ronan glanced inside to see the bored face of a worker at the counter, tapping apathetically at the screen of their phone. He thought briefly of the last time he’d been to insomnia, Adam’s knee pressed against his between a pair of shitty plastic chairs. 

It seemed like it had been an eternity ago, and yet the memory still turned a part of him raw- all jagged, electric edges. 

Gansey ducked inside the door to the restaurant, and held it open for Ronan to follow. The inside was decorated in a pale, minimalist fashion. Ornamental, artfully designed chopsticks were hung on the white walls with sparkling christmas lights. He felt out of place next to the high-topped tables and glossy plastic chairs. A speck of black in a too-bright room. 

They ordered dumplings and fried rice. Gansey got strawberry-flavored bubble tea and pestered Ronan until he conceded, and tried an iced matcha drink. They staked out a table in a corner and waited for their meal to come. It was nice to hang out with Gansey- familiar. They used to go out together all the time, back in freshman year. Now, they still lived with each other- but Gansey was busier, and they both had more friends. There was less time for this- one on one lunches and late nights spent in companionable insomnia. 

Ronan fiddled absently with his wristbands. “How’s the halloween party-planning going?” 

For the past the past week, Gansey, Blue, and Henry had been buying tacky decorations for the house and secretly conspiring on costumes. They now had jack-o-lantern christmas lights on their front porch, casting an orange glow over the house at night. Ronan had found an ugly racoon tail cap on a plastic skull in the downstairs closet. Honestly, he didn’t want to know. 

“It’s good!” Gansey nodded enthusiastically. He seemed pleased to be asked about it, and Ronan knew it was partially his fault. Every time his friends talked about Halloween, he could only think about Kavinsky, about the party he’d promised to attend. The nightmare-thing he had to dream. It was no surprise the mention of Halloween turned his mood sour.

“I still wish you’d come,” Gansey added, a crease appearing between his brows. 

Ronan shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He wished he could hang out with his friends that night- make fun of their silly costumes, watch them laughing and pink-faced after a few drinks. He hadn’t found a way to tell them about Kavinsky’s party. 

Picking at his wristbands with practiced apathy, Ronan told him. “I have plans.” 

“I know.” Gansey said. His mouth made a thin line. “You told me that much.” which meant: _ but you haven’t told me what you’re really doing.  _

Ronan felt a sick jolt of guilt in the pit of his stomach. A younger, more vulnerable part of him still didn’t want to disappoint Gansey. He remembered when their friendship had been tighter, closer- Gansey helping him shave his head the weekend after his father died. He swallowed. 

“I’ll try to come to your party.” 

It wasn’t a promise. He knew he couldn’t promise with Kavinsky involved. However, a part of him wondered if he should just tell Adam the truth. That would save him the trouble of dealing with Kavinsky, but there was the chance it would damage his relationship with Adam, however unclear the status of their relationship already was. 

Ronan wasn’t good at telling secrets. 

Gansey seemed pleased that Ronan confessed he would try to come, but of course he was being offhand and polite about it. He wiped invisible dirt off his palms with a stray napkin on the table: “You don’t have to come if you don’t want to, really, it’s meant to be fun.” 

Smiling sharply, Ronan told him: “Seeing you and Sargent embarrass yourself with matching costumes _ is _ fun.”

“I won’t be made to feel bad for participating in the spirit of tradition.” Gansey huffed, indignant. It was at this moment that a server brought them their drinks, and Ronan watched his expression shifted from slightly put out to radiant as he smiled. It was entirely in his nature to make himself charming for other people, even if they were strangers passing for a mere instant. It had been ingrained into him from hundreds of political parties, thousands of distant, polite gestures from his parents. 

Ronan tried his drink and pulled a face. It wasn’t that it was bad- it was just somehow different than he expected, bitter and sweet at the same time. It left a filmy, earthy taste on his tongue. Gansey laughed at his expression, and in return Ronan flipped him off. For a moment, it felt like all was as it should be. 

Then, of course, his phone buzzed in his pocket. 

[434-837-1263 :] i _ x art park. midnight on halloween. bring something good.  _

✕

Adam didn’t have a Halloween costume, so he wore a washed-out flannel and a pair of  Gansey’s hiking boots (too small for him, pinching at the ankles) and if anyone asked, he told them he was a lumberjack. By comparison to his classmates, it wasn’t a particularly interesting costume. On the way to his first class, he’d already seen a group of frat boys dressed up as babies with fake diapers, and a girl dressed in a full harry potter costume; wand and all. 

Part of him was glad for his scraped together costume. He didn’t like the idea of standing out for something like this. He was most comfortable blending into the crowd on campus. Head down, arm up, answer the professor's question and march on to the next class. School work was something so familiar it was almost comforting, a welcome distraction from the riot of complications elsewhere in his life. 

His work schedule had been moved around, he was having trouble sleeping, and when he did sleep he had cryptic dreams. They were always filled with forests and the dark flutter of wings overhead, eyes watching him from behind thick, summer-green foliage. A part of him felt as if there was a string tied to his rib cage, pulling, pulling, pulling towards something he couldn’t see. Something so big he couldn’t understand it yet. 

He was also fairly certain Ronan was flirting with him- if he wasn’t reading things wrong- and if he  _ was  _ reading things wrong, there was a possibility he could disrupt the fragile balance they’d built over the past few months. Adam didn’t know if they’d be able to recover a friendship for a second time. 

He was stressed. 

Really, Adam was always stressed in an absent, background sort of way. There was a part of his mind constantly dissecting his issues, constantly analyzing future dilemmas. He was so used to it that it became background noise- this tangled knot of thoughts and feelings, so close together it was impossible to distinguish the difference between the two. 

It didn’t help that Gansey and Henry were throwing a party tonight. He liked his friends, and he liked the house they all shared together- but he was still fairly certain he’d rather spend an evening in the library than with a bunch of friends of his friends. People he didn’t really know or care about. It made him nervous, thinking about all the previous parties he’d been to. The way he felt like a ghost in a crowd of strangers, with a deaf ear and his threadbare clothing.

The only good experience he’d ever gotten from a party was meeting Ronan, and even then it hadn’t worked out. 

Adam sighed, scuffed a hand through his hair, and tried to refocus. He was in a lecture on advanced marketing tactics, and while the topic usually interested him— he felt off today. Drained, almost. He found himself writing the same sentence in his notes twice, before crossing it out and then trying to squint at the professor's powerpoint at the head of the lecture hall. He was tired from another night of restless sleep, and hungry because he hadn’t had time to eat a full breakfast. 

He’d also skipped lunch to study for a quiz, which in retrospect wasn’t his best decision. 

His stomach gurgled quietly, and the girl sitting next to him glanced at him sidelong. He felt a flush of embarrassment, and stared resoloutley at his notes. Adam wished that he’d at least remembered to pack a protein bar. Or a bottle of water. Or  _ something.  _ Anything. He thought he’d probably take one of Gansey’s failed baking endeavours right now. 

Class dragged along terribly for another half hour, and Adam forced himself to sit around after the lecture to edit his notes. Only then, only once most of the other students had filtered out of the hall and abandoned him, did he stand from his seat. He stretched his arms over his head and his elbows popped loudly. There was no one left to hear it. He slid his notebook easily into his worn messenger bag, and left. 

It wasn’t a long walk back to the house, across the lawn and past fraternity houses with parties already started. There were already discarded beer cups in ready abundance on the grass. Adam wondered what classes they were missing for something that seemed so entirely unappealing to him. He knew that his friends would most likely be preparing for  _ their _ party when he got back, but theirs didn’t even start until seven. The house would be quiet for an hour or two while everyone ate dinner and put on costumes and counted the number of plastic cups they’d purchased. It was a relief. 

✕

Adam ended up eating a makeshift dinner of microwave macaroni and forgotten kale he’d found in the bottom drawer of the fridge. It was neither the best thing he’d eaten, nor the worst. Surprisingly, no one was in a flurry of activity when he got back to the house. In fact, there was no one there besides Ronan, who only made his presence known by the faint pounding of electronica through the walls. At this point, Adam didn’t even mind. He almost found it comforting- maybe because he’d gotten used to it, maybe because it so easily reminded him of Ronan. 

Everyone would be back soon, of course, so Adam took advantage of the almost-quiet, and crashed on the couch after half-heartedly flipping through the most recent issue of Game Informer. Henry had left it sprawled out on the coffee table, but it wasn’t engaging enough to keep him awake. For once, he slept easy and hard, until someone shook his shoulder an indeterminate amount of time later. 

He jolted at the touch, and then groaned. His neck was sore from using the arm of the couch as a pillow. 

Opening his eyes, he found Noah looming over him in a way that would’ve been menacing coming from anyone else. Instead, it rendered him somehow small and unsettling. 

Adam felt the skin on his back prickle with a sudden chill, the way it sometimes did around Noah, and sat up. “Is everyone else back?” 

Noah shook his head. “They’re getting boxed wine.” 

“To fend off Tad Carruthers.” Ronan said, and Adam had to look over his shoulder. He hadn’t noticed Ronan- barefoot, with a towel slung haphazardly across his shoulders. He looked like he’d just gotten out of the shower- a bead of water dripping down from his buzzed hair, over his temple and down his cheekbone. 

Adam was too distracted by Ronan’s sudden appearance to laugh. A distant part of him knew the joke was funny, but a more present part of him knew that Ronan’s tank top was sticking to his skin, and he must have shaved because for once there was no stubble on his jaw. The sharp lines of his tattoo were stark and black on his neck, his shoulders. Adam remembered tracing the thin, delicate lines before and a part of him ached to do it again. 

Suddenly, desperately, he wanted to take a cold shower. 

Instead, he asked: “Do you have a costume?” 

Ronan gave him a pointed look. “Do I look like the kind of person to dress up for Halloween?” 

Admittedly, he didn’t look like the kind of person who would dress up for any holiday. Ronan took pains to make himself as intimidating as possible but Adam could see through it. 

He rolled his eyes, and pulled a pillow off the couch to throw at Ronan. “Buzz kill.” 

It hit him in the face, and Ronan sputtered, catching it as it fell against his chest. Noah laughed at the pair of them, loud and easy. Adam felt lighter somehow, a buoyant sort of happiness rising in his chest. Ronan threw the pillow back at him, and Adam caught it easily as Ronan came over- crowding himself onto the couch, scooping Adam’s legs out from under him so he could sit. 

“Asshole.” Ronan said, crossing his arms over Adam’s shins. There was something at once comforting and electric about their position. Adam’s calves hooked over Ronan’s thighs, Ronan’s arms resting on his legs. Adam was smiling. He felt young, and stupid, and hopelessly fascinated by Ronan.  

Flicking Adam’s collar, Ronan asked: “And is this supposed to be a costume?” 

“I’m a lumberjack.” Adam said. He knew his costume was weak- he was almost wearing his every day clothing- but he wasn’t embarrassed by Ronan’s teasing. If anything, he’d become so used to Ronan’s meaningless jabs that it felt routine. 

Ronan snorted. “You’re missing the axe.” 

“Oh,” Adam replied, sarcasm coloring his voice. “I’m  _ so  _ sorry my lumberjack costume doesn’t meet your standards.” He mimed wiping a tear from his eyes. “How will I ever go on.” 

Ronan rolled his eyes, but Adam saw the corner of his mouth turn up. “At least you’re not a 60’s boy scout.”

“Who’s a boy scout?” 

“Gansey.” Ronan grimaced, and slumped further into the couch. “He’s got a coontail cap. It’s fucking ugly.” 

The image itself was enough to make Adam laugh, but admittedly, it was sort of fitting. Gansey had always been interested in nature, and he gave off a sort of charisma that felt at once presidential and somehow wholesome. 

“If Gansey’s a boy scout, what’s Blue?” 

“I don’t know,” Ronan admitted. “They’re dressing up as a couple from some movie. Moonlight Country or some shit.” 

The front door opened loudly enough that Adam could hear it, and he craned his neck to look back over the couch. “I guess you can ask them.” 

✕

 

Adam Parrish wasn’t really the sort to go to parties, but there was one in his living room so there wasn’t much he could do. Really, it wasn’t terrible. It was mostly people he already knew through the marketing group, and in some small mercy Gansey had tactfully avoided inviting Tad. If he had to deal with a crowd of intoxicated college students, at least none of them were going to awkwardly try to kiss him. 

He got to meet a handful of Blue’s friends from class- all various art majors, all in clever or creative costumes. One red-headed guy was holding a baguette with a sign around his neck that read _Gingerbread Man._ Adam thought it was interesting, and funny, and he made it through a round of introductions and half a conversation before it started to tire him. It wasn’t that there was anything wrong with any of the people he met- it was the cacophony of laughter, of music playing from the kitchen and the living room. The sound from all sides was overwhelming with his deaf ear. 

At least at the party last spring, Adam had been able to focus on Ronan. 

Tonight he felt juggled from friend to friend, meeting a group of new people and never retaining any of their names. He ducked into the kitchen hoping to find a familiar face, and was relieved to see Henry fiddling with a mobile speaker, probably in a ploy to put on one of his playlists. He had a glass of wine balanced in one hand, his phone in the other, the wig from his costume discarded on the counter. 

Henry had dressed up as Madonna- starting the night in full makeup, a wig, and high heels. Now he was down to his mesh shirt, and a pair of jeans so tight they looked like they’d been painted on. Really, Adam couldn’t blame him. It was hot enough inside as it was with all of the guests, he couldn’t imagine trying to wear a wig on top of that.

“Hey,” Adam said, trying not to sound like he’d just been saved from a shipwreck. “What are you up to?” 

Henry glanced up from his phone, busy queueing up 80’s hits. The glittery eyeshadow Blue had put on him earlier was beginning to travel down his cheeks _.  _

“Oh, you know,” Henry smiled. “hijacking Richard-Man’s playlist. He may have impeccable hair, however one can only tolerate so much U2 at a party.” 

Adam made a noncommittal sound of consideration.“It’s not terrible.” 

Henry shot him a significant look, intimidating under usual circumstances, but even more dramatic with his makeup. 

Adam cracked a smile, conceding. “Okay, okay- it’s not exactly Halloween party material.” 

Then again, neither were the Halloween-themed showtunes Noah so adored. Picking music for a Halloween party seemed the same as picking music for a normal party. 

Henry leaned close, conspiratorial.“Blue and I are trading off switching the music while he’s not paying attention.” 

Adam stifled a laugh, leaning back against the kitchen counter. “You two are terrible.” Henry just grinned as Adam shook his head, somewhere between amused and exasperated with the antics of his friends. “God. Where is Gansey, anyways? I’ve barely seen him.” 

Truth be told, Adam had hardly seen any of his friends all night, aside from the beginning of the evening, when it was really just the six of them. Both Ronan and Noah had drifted off somewhere: either upstairs, or to the front porch. Last time he saw Blue, she was with her art major friends, her wild hair combed and left down for once- if only for the sake of her costume. 

Henry shrugged. “I think he’s with wendybird- at least last I saw him.” 

As much as Adam enjoyed talking to Henry, he was beginning to feel suffocated by the air in the house. It was too warm, almost as humid as a night in May. The kitchen had been emptier earlier, but now party-goers where trickling in around the edges. With his deaf ear, he was overwhelmed by the constant hum of voices, mixing in with the music to create an indecipherable, uncomfortable white noise. 

Adam tugged at the collar of his shirt, somehow hoping it would make him less hot. “I think I’m going to go get some air.” 

“Alright,” Henry tipped his wine glass towards him in a cheerful sort of gesture. “Don’t freeze out there.” Which had to be a joke because the night was a perfect fall evening; clear and crisp, the air carrying the sweet, earthy scent of decaying leaves.

Adam gave Henry a smile and a small wave, before exiting the kitchen and heading down the hall, away from the crush of bodies occupying the living room. It wasn’t until he got outside, into the tiny plot of land that sufficed as their back yard, that he could finally breathe. The night sky was cut by tree branches overhead, the moon a silver sliver over neighbouring rooftops. 

He hadn’t spent much time in their backyard. There was an overgrown garden falling victim to the chill of fall, and a set of rickety chairs next to a rarely-used patio. Usually, they were empty but Adam thought he saw a figure in the dark, between the cracks of light filtering outside from the kitchen window. 

“Ronan?” from his position at the back door he couldn’t quite tell, but as he came closer it was abruptly clear that Ronan, too, was hiding out from the party. He had a can of soda on the arm of the chair that he didn’t look like he was drinking. 

“Hey,” Adam picked up the can- coke, he noted distantly- and awkwardly sat down on the wide arm of the chair. “You got sick of it in there, too?” 

Ronan nodded in confirmation, and then stole his drink back from Adam, resting one of his arms over Adam’s knee. “It’s hot as hell with all those people. And they’re playing shitty music.” 

“Oh, right,” Adam knocked his foot against Ronan’s shin, gentle, teasing. He felt better just being outside. The cool air and the sound of Ronan’s voice was a balm to the anxiety that had been rising in him. “Like your choices would be better.” 

“You don’t complain about it when I get you from work.” Ronan retorted, taking a sip of the soda. Adam felt his cheeks heat, and was instantly glad for the darkness. In all honesty, he didn’t mind Ronan’s music. Sometimes around all of their friends he seemed to play loud, gratuitously electronic tracks specifically to annoy them. The times they’d been alone together in Ronan’s car, it had always been more subdued. Electronica still, but often something more dream-like. Almost soft. It was another piece of Ronan unperformed, unprotected. 

“Who would complain about a free ride?” Adam replied, deftly plucking Ronan’s drink from his hands, and taking a sip for himself. His mouth flooded with the sugary-sweet taste of cola, where Ronan’s had been only an instant ago. 

The thought gave him a stupid, heady rush. 

“Asshole,” Ronan said, but there was an edge to his voice that sounded fond. Something inside Adam twisted, bright-red and taut. They were dancing closer and closer to a question he’d been asking himself since the night he moved in. Maybe even since the night they met. He felt stuck somewhere between what he wanted, and what was safe. 

“Coming from you, that’s almost a term of affection.” Adam remarked, trying to keep his voice light. 

“Almost.” Ronan confirmed, his expression something unreadable in the dark. He picked at the ripped part of Adam’s old jeans, his fingertips brushing skin. Adam felt electric. The angles of Ronan’s face were sharp in the low light, his eyelashes casting heavy shadows over his cheeks.  _ What are we doing━  _ Ronan was tracing circles on his knee. His warm fingers almost made Adam shiver. “But you don’t seem like you’d be into pet names, anyway.” 

Adam shook his head, taking another sip of coke before abandoning it on the uneven patio near his feet. “Cheesy,” Ronan’s hand was still on his knee, skin to skin. “calling me an asshole is more romantic.” 

Ronan was silent for a long moment, and then he moved his hand from Adam’s knee, instead finding Adam’s fingertips in the dark. He traced his fingers over Adam’s knuckles, down towards the jut of his wrist bone. “You’ve got weird taste.” 

Adam ached. They weren’t quite holding hands, but it was a near thing. Ronan was close enough that he could feel the heat of his body. The press of his shoulder against Adam’s. He let out a sigh, closing his eyes for an instant, trying to ground himself.

He wanted badly to kiss Ronan. 

“Tell me about it.” 

Ronan looked at him for a long, cool moment- something between them stretched taut. Adam almost felt like he couldn’t breathe, like Ronan had stolen his ability to process with rational thought. He was too close for Adam to pretend to have any sort of emotional distance. And if he was was being honest with himself, he didn’t want to pretend. 

Ronan took Adam’s hand, and pulled him down to kiss him. 

Adam was surprised, and then he was too busy kissing Ronan to possibly be anything but hungry. He’d been waiting for this and as much as he denied it to himself, he knew it. He hadn’t wanted anyone else, not for months, not when he could have this. 

Ronan’s mouth was warm and he still tasted like sugary soda, still felt like something Adam would never get sick of. Ronan abandoned Adam’s hand to pull him in closer by the back of his neck. Adam was still sitting on the arm of the chair, and didn’t protest. Ronan’s hands found his waist, and Adam leaned into the touch even as they kissed. 

He felt at once dizzy and hyper aware of himself, of Ronan. He could feel Ronan’s hands warming his skin through his shirt, the barely-there stubble on Ronan’s jaw. He bit Ronan’s lip gently, intentionally. Ronan made a soft noise in the back of his throat, and Adam loved the taste of it in his mouth. 

He’d only had this once, and somehow he’d missed it. He didn’t want to give it up. More than that, though, he didn’t want to give up the rest of it━ every quiet moment eating breakfast before class, every stolen glance in the bathroom mirror. Every secret, every almost-confession to the things that made him the most vulnerable. Adam didn’t want to lose the closeness they had. 

He pulled back for an instant, just to catch his breath. He felt warm, and somehow over-charged. He realized his hands were shaking. “I like you,” Adam let out a deep breath. “Like, I actually like you. A lot.” He felt terribly nervous. Even though Ronan had kissed him first, he was afraid of how this would end. 

Ronan was quiet for a moment, taking this in. Instead of moving his hand from Adam’s waist, he was just rubbing Adam’s back. It was a slow, soothing motion. 

“I like you too, dipshit.” 

Adam let his head fall forward, burying his face in the crook of Ronan’s neck. He laughed. It was so completely Ronan to call him a dipshit in the same sentence he revealed his feelings for Adam. He felt relieved, and excited, and somehow more vulnerable than before. Ronan liked him too. Ronan liked him. For a moment they just stayed that way, in a warm, fragile sort of embrace- Adam listening to Ronan’s breathing, familiarizing himself with his heartbeat, the rise and fall of his chest. 

There would be time to talk later, time for questions and answers. For now Adam just wanted to be close to Ronan, wanted his company in a simple, nebulous way he couldn’t fully explain. 

He slid off his uncomfortable position on the arm of the chair, which put him directly in Ronan’s lap. Ronan grunted, surprised by the weight of him, but he seemed to have no problem with this turn of events. He leaned forward, kissing the edge of Adam’s jaw- a barely there whisper. A ghost of a kiss that sent a shiver down Adam’s spine.

Quietly, Ronan told him: “I thought I fucked everything up.” 

Here he was, raw and honest with Adam. Something in his chest hurt. 

“You kind of did,” Adam admitted. It was hard for him to say, because for the longest time he’d tried to tell himself that Ronan  _ hadn’t _ hurt him. That the night they met had been something casual, after all. 

They both knew it hadn’t been. 

Adam touched the back of Ronan’s neck, the velvet-crush of his buzzed hair, and cracked a smile.“But I still like you, dipshit.” 

Ronan kissed him again, and despite Adam’s nerves, he responded eagerly. He could get lost easily in Ronan’s touch, the press of their mouths together. It made him forget about every question he had━ the flowers, why Ronan left that night, where he went on the weekends. Everything dissolved into heat, Ronan’s tongue at the seam of his lips, the soft scrape of Ronan’s hair under his palms. He thought if he could become addicted to anything, it would be this. 

They pulled apart to breathe, and then Ronan came back, peppering kisses from Adam’s throat to his jaw, his eyelids to his temple before kissing Adam on the mouth. There was something tender and desperate between them, like in each kiss they had to make up for lost time. Adam didn’t mind. He liked having Ronan here, under his hands and his mouth. He would take what he could get for as long as he could get it. 

If he could, he’d take everything. 

✕

Ronan decided not to go to Kavinsky’s party the same moment he decided to kiss Adam. It had been less of a decision than an impulse, something he couldn’t keep back anymore. A secret that he couldn’t hide, even if he’d been revealing it slowly the entire time. He knew that in kissing Adam, he’d have to tell him the truth. It was unfair to hold him at arm's length one moment, and keep him close the next. 

He would tell him, and he’d tell him soon ━  but it didn’t have to be tonight. 

Selfishly, Ronan just wanted to be with Adam, without bringing in nightmares and family secrets, just for a little while. Just until the morning. 

He just wanted to be here, with Adam’s fingers in his hair, their bodies pressed close, kissing until they couldn’t breathe. Ronan had never been good with words. He barely knew how to tell Adam he liked him, had barely managed to get it out even after a kiss. Even after it was obvious. The best he could do was try to  _ show  _ Adam, try to kiss it into him. Every feeling, every secret, every moment he’d thought  _ I still want you _ , and hadn’t shown it. 

He wanted to show it. 

In his back pocket, his phone buzzed. Ronan ignored it. He had more important things to focus on, like the soft slide of his lips against Adam’s. The prickling sensation of Adam running his fingers over his scalp, through his buzzed hair. He never wanted it to stop. They were alone out in the dark, the muffled sounds of music in the house carrying through the walls and outside. It was at once comforting and isolating, like they were the center of their own universe, where nothing mattered but the space and time they held between them. 

Adam pulled back to breathe, but he still kept one of his hands on the back of Ronan’s neck, tracing circles on the knob of his spine, at the edge of his hairline. “All this is making me nostalgic for cookies.” 

It surprised a laugh out of him, an easy throwaway sound. The kind of laugh he’d almost forgotten about. “What, Parrish, you want to go back to Insomnia?” 

Adam shrugged, and then shook his head. “I’m just hungry.” He leaned his head against Ronan’s shoulder━  comfortable, familiar. It was a gesture so tactile and simple that it made something in his chest swell. 

“I used to know how to bake,” Ronan admitted, running his finger through Adam’s hair, tracing the shell of his ear. “My mom taught me.” He hadn’t thought of Aurora in awhile, outside of nightmares. They didn’t seem to count as real memories of her- the memory of finding her body, the warped dreams of it. That was the nightmare. 

The reality was her, asleep. Her, waking up in Cabeswater. 

His childhood had been the dream. 

Adam smiled, a small thing at the corner of his mouth. “I thought you said you could only cook breakfast.” 

“Shut up,” Ronan’s cheeks felt hot. “Baking is different. And I haven’t since I was fourteen.” 

They were still tangled comfortably together in the chair. Adam slid his fingers through Ronan’s hair again; a delightful, shivery sensation. “What was your favorite thing to make?” 

Ronan closed his eyes, the gentle touch bleeding into his scalp. He felt warm, and somehow younger, more vulnerable. “There was this apple tart my mom always made at Christmas. It was a family recipe.” He shrugged. “Declan’s shit at baking, and Matthew was too young to try without making a mess of the kitchen.” 

Just talking about it made him miss it so much he felt raw, the pain of it still fresh even now. He felt suddenly claustrophobic, trapped by the memory of things he couldn’t have anymore. He wanted to move, wanted to run or drive or drink. Something to drown out the restless, kinetic cocktail of sadness and anger that always came when he thought of home. 

Adam stuck his hand underneath Ronan’s jacket, tracing his fingers across his bare shoulder. It was enough to distract him from his own memories, but he still felt too restless. He needed to do something, needed to move for just a moment. 

Ronan shifted in the chair. “I think I’m going to go get a drink.” At this, Adam climbed off him, back onto the arm of the chair so Ronan could actually move. 

Ronan asked: “Do you want anything?” 

Adam shrugged. “I think I’ll just finish your coke.” It was still sitting next to the chair, abandoned on the patio. Ronan stood, and then leaned over to grab the soda and pass it back to Adam. Their fingers brushed, and Ronan lingered for an instant, suddenly hesitant to leave Adam. 

He tucked a flyaway piece of hair behind Adam’s ear, a simple excuse just to touch. “I’ll be right back.” 

Inside, Ronan felt assaulted by the music, the people they hadn’t initially invited who had brought their friends, and their friend’s friends. He slipped into the kitchen, hopeful for something to drink. He wanted to stick to soda, or water. He wasn’t interested in alcohol, especially if he was going back to Adam. He wanted to keep his head clear. 

His phone buzzed in his back pocket, and he was so annoyed by the presence of party-goers in his kitchen that he actually checked it, an instant reflex. 

He wasn’t thinking about who would be texting him tonight. 

[434-837-1263 :]  _ i know u need incentive to come to the party. be here by one or these go to the dean.  _

There was a folder attached. Ronan had not been prepared for more blackmail. He hadn’t even thought of something of this caliber. He double clicked to open it, and his stomach dropped. He didn’t know what he’d been expecting. Faked images of himself, probably, dreamt into existence in the backseat of a car, in an empty parking garage, on the floor of K’s apartment. 

He never expected Kavinsky to do this to Adam. To Gansey, or Blue or Henry. He knew the pictures were faked, he knew because it was  _ Kavinsky.  _ Because these were his friends. He felt like he was going to vomit. Any one of these pictures was enough to get each of them expelled from UVA, if not send them into hot water with the police. 

He couldn’t bear to look at them. 

Ronan deleted the folder, and shoved his phone into the kitchen cupboard, unwilling to look at it any longer. 

He didn’t want to go. The realization was as abrupt as it was painful. Of course he didn’t want to go, but he didn’t have a choice. He wouldn’t let Kavinsky do this to his friends. He couldn’t- not after everything they’d done for him. They’d kept him alive in the hardest times of his life, and he’d do nearly anything to be sure they wouldn’t suffer. 

Compared to his friends getting kicked out of school and having to deal with the consequences of that, going to a party and dreaming something terrible wasn’t much of a sacrifice. 

Of course he was going. 

Of course he couldn’t bear to risk anyone but himself. 

✕

Ronan arrived at the IX art park fifteen minutes after he was supposed to, but 45 minutes before anything truly terrible was meant to happen. At this hour, the concrete lot was mostly empty, aside from a small group crowded around a series of outdoor couches and tables, falling to pieces from time and weather. A cluster of half-empty bottles and discarded plastic cups were easily visible. Kavinsky had parked his mitsubishi on the asphalt center of the park. Even from a distance, Ronan could see the silhouette of a young man stretched out on a picnic table, smoking. 

It wasn’t so much a party as a gathering of Kavinsky’s inner circle, which somehow made Ronan more wary. He felt hunted. 

Cagey and sick, Ronan approached the group. Someone had begun to play garage electronica off a mobile speaker. He stopped to pick up a handful of gravel at the edge of the parking lot, and threw bits of it at the mitsubishi to announce his arrival. Heads turned in the dark, leering like nocturnal animals. Stupidly, Kavinsky was still wearing his sunglasses. Ronan threw a piece of gravel at him, and it bounced harmlessly off his shoulder. 

“Ouch, Lynch,” Kavinsky rubbed his arm, mocking. “This is what I get for inviting the princess to the party?” He grinned like he hadn’t blackmailed him into coming, and gestured for Ronan to join him on the tatty couch. 

Part of Ronan wanted to punch Kavinsky, to hurl him tidily back against the couch and break his nose. A larger part of him, however, knew that he was going to have to play Kavinsky’s game if he wanted to get out of here tonight. 

So he sat down. 

“Delete the pictures,” Ronan hissed. He wasn’t able to keep the venom from his voice, the toxic combination of anxiety and anger rising in him. One of K’s cronies, Jiang, rolled his eyes. Skov was the one smoking on the picnic table, apathetic, ignoring the conversation unfolding next to him. He didn’t even glance at Ronan, not for a second. 

Kavinsky let out a low whistle. “Straight to business then,” He cracked his knuckles one by one, a slow popping sound that grated on Ronan’s nerves. His fingers were too thin, pale and spidery. Ronan wondered if it was the coke that had hollowed him out like this, or something else he’d never fully understood. 

K held up his phone in his palm, almost a display. “You give me your nightmare, I delete these. We both get what we want.” 

Ronan clenched his jaw. “I don’t have one.” 

Sighing dramatically, Kavinsky told him: “Don’t throw yourself a pity party yet, Lynch. The night is young.” He flung an arm around Ronan’s shoulder- a searching gesture, clearly testing how he would react. Ronan’s shoulders went tense, instinctively, but he didn’t say anything. “You think you can dream on command?” 

Ronan thought about it. He hadn’t  _ tried  _ to dream anything, not for a terribly long time. He hadn’t needed to. His dreams were so frequently populated by nightmare creatures that he didn’t think he’d have to try to find one. It was just the question of bringing something out. 

“Maybe.” Ronan said. He didn’t want to admit that he wasn’t sure, not when there was this much at stake. He was here to keep his friends safe, and if he failed, this would all be for nothing. 

Kavinsky smiled at him, slow, like a shark that smelled blood in the water from miles away. “I have something that can help.” 

He knew, instantly, that it had to be some sort of pill. He didn’t want it. He’d done this once before, and it hadn’t ended well. He didn’t want to do it again. He folded his arms across his chest. 

“I’ll pass.” 

Prokopenko snickered at the pair of them, and Kavinsky raised his hands in mock-surrender. 

“Fine, fine. Not my fault if you dig your own grave here.” He pulled himself up off the couch, and gestured for Ronan to follow. “If we’re going to do this, let’s get it over with.” 

Ronan hesitated, if only for a fraction of a second. He didn’t know how he’d be able to fall asleep like this, his nerves frayed nearly to breaking. But he didn’t have a choice. He stood, and followed as Kavinsky strolled across the lot, absolutely careless. 

Because it was an art park, the concrete ground was painted in long, thin lines, curling together and apart. There were abandoned tricycles, a bike with a flat tire, a rusty razor scooter that had seen better days. Someone had installed a life-guards stand, a chalk wall scribbled with profanity and poetry. Someone had built a dome in the far corner, out of tree branches and vines. In the summer, Ronan knew it grew thick with foliage, so green you couldn’t see inside. Now the creeping vines had all withered away to dry, brown husks. 

This was where Kavinsky took him. 

Inside, under the canopy of branches, there were more shitty pieces of outdoor furniture. A pair of rusted metal chairs made to look dainty and ornamental, another couch, a coffee table with abandoned plastic cups. Ronan took the couch before Kavinsky could get to it, and tried not to think about the number of couples that had probably fornicated here in the past. It  _ was  _ a public park. 

Kavinsky rifled through the pocket of his jacket, and pulled out a plastic baggie. Ronan was a fair distance away, but he could see the green pills inside of it, glimmering sinister like emeralds. Kavinsky tossed them through the air and Ronan caught them, instinctive. 

“I know you’re not going to sleep,” Kavinsky said, pulling over one of the rusty chairs next to the couch. Distantly, Ronan could hear the laughter of K’s friends, the indistinct trill of music. His jaw clenched. K gestured to the plastic bag in Ronan’s hand. “The offer still stands.” 

Ronan didn’t trust Kavinsky. He didn’t trust what Kavinsky was offering, but he didn’t think he’d be able to fall asleep like this. He was too restless, too anxious. It was one thing to fall asleep and try to dream at The Barns, or the green house. There he felt safe, at least. Relaxed even. Here with Kavinsky watching him, in an unfamiliar setting, he was too on edge to sleep, no matter how much he wanted to. 

He pulled one of the pills out of the bag, and examined it. 

The capsule was thin, green, glossy. There was no RX number stamped on the side of it, nothing to reassure Ronan that he was making the right decision. 

It didn’t matter. Ronan took the pill. 

✕

When Ronan didn’t come back after fifteen minutes, Adam started to feel sick. It should’ve taken him three minutes, or five. He shouldn’t have been gone this long. Adam was alone in the dark, waiting and waiting. Terribly, he thought:  _ Ronan left again.  _ He scolded himself for thinking it immediately afterward. Ronan could just as easily have gotten caught up in a conversation with Gansey or Noah inside. He was being paranoid. 

He waited a few minutes longer, reading articles from  _ The Washington Post  _ on his phone, trying to pass the time. It wasn’t until his phone buzzed with a text that he gave up, and decided to go back to the house. 

[ Blue: ]  _ Where are u?  _

[ Adam: ]  _ I was just in the backyard getting some air. Be right in.  _

He was surprised to find that was quieter inside than it had been before. A few groups had trickled out, it seemed, leaving marketing group members and Blue’s art friends mostly clustered in the living room and the hallway. Adam hadn’t seen Gansey for awhile, but he found him sitting with Blue in the kitchen. 

“Hey,” Adam craned his neck to see into the living room from the open kitchen door. He couldn’t spot a shaved head in the small crowd. “Have either of you seen Ronan?”

Gansey shook his head. “I thought he was outside.” 

“He came in,” Adam said, still looking, almost desperately. With each passing moment he felt sicker. “He was going to get a drink.” 

Blue knocked her heels against the cupboard below her, a thoughtful gesture. Her knee socks from her costume had slipped down her calves, her bright blue eyeshadow travelling down her cheeks. “I thought I saw him come in, but I haven’t seen him since then.” 

She looked at Adam for a long moment, calculating.

“Why? Did something happen?” 

“No,” Adam lied. “I just wondered where he went.” 

_ He left.  _ Adam thought.  _ He left again.  _ He felt sick and stupid, a terrible ache rising in his chest. Of course Ronan hadn’t wanted him after all. Of course. He wasn’t Gansey with his presidential voice and perfect skin. He wasn’t Kavinsky, a bear-trap waiting for blood. He was just Adam Parrish, with his dirty fingernails and shabby clothing. 

There was a pit in his stomach like a black hole, but it wasn’t from hunger. It was from the sudden loneliness, eating him from the inside out. He thought somehow, impossibly, that it might have worked out this time. He didn’t know how he could’ve been so foolish. 

✕

In Ronan’s dream, Cabeswater was bare as ever, besides the violets that had been growing stupidly, stubbornly since the dream where Adam touched them. He could hear the wind raking through the trees, the bare branches scratching together in a discordant crescendo. He felt terrible when he was awake, and it carried over to the nightmare easily, poisoning the dreamscape. The sky was tinted the hellish purple before a summer thunderstorm, the air stirring with a thick humidity pressing in against him, malevolent. 

Instantly, he knew this dream wanted the horror of fresh blood. It wanted to kill him. Ronan knew he’d meant to dream a nightmare, but it didn’t stop him from wondering how he’d ended up here again, how things had suddenly become so twisted and dark, so painful and strange. 

It didn’t take long before he heard the tell-tale clicking of beaks, the strange rustling of overgrown wings. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of oily black feathers, a beady red eye the size of his fist. It was a night horror. 

He heard the sound of it before it pounced, like a straw stuck through bicycle spokes. ━ _ tck-tck-tck _

When Ronan woke up, it came with him. 

As always when he awoke, Ronan was numb, frozen. The night horror however had free range of motion. It had manifested next to him, almost on top of him. He could smell the horror of carrion on its feathers, on its breath. He was trapped, immobile. Ronan couldn’t see K from where he was lying, but he heard the sudden scraping of a chair and the scuffle off footsteps across the ground. 

Kavinsky hit the night horror with a chair, and it let out a strange shriek- something between a croak and a scream. Ronan’s fingers twitched, his heart pounding a thousand miles per hour. One of the night horror’s claws sank into his forearm and dragged down, down, down. It sliced him open. He hardly registered the pain but there was blood welling, hot and slick and dripping down his arm like a faucet turned on. Distantly, he felt bad for bleeding on the couch. It was a public park. 

His limbs still hadn’t thawed, but he wanted to kick, wanted to shove the thing off him. He didn’t have anything sufficient to kill it with- no knife like he kept under his bed at the green house. He was vulnerable, and he hated it. 

K hit it with a chair again, this time knocking it off of Ronan. He managed to turn his head just enough to see the wicked grin on Kavinsky’s face. He seemed wildly entertained, unthreatened by the presence of the monster. Ronan felt sick, and somehow relieved. Either Kavinsky was high enough that this became a game to him, or he knew he could kill the thing. He had to hope it was the latter. 

The night horror’s attention was briefly deflected away from Ronan, instead swiping long needle-like claws at Kavinsky. It was brutally swift, frighteningly powerful and Kavinsky only dodged clumsily at the last second. It ripped three claw marks in the sleeve of his jacket, and Kavinsky scowled. He seemed suddenly bored with the night horror. He hit it with the chair again, three brutal strikes over and over, knocking the thing back against the wooden structure of the dome.

It let out a shriek, and Ronan wondered if someone would call the police. He tried to move, and found his limbs protesting still. His arm was bleeding, and with his other hand, he tried to cover it. His grip felt loose, stiff. Entirely unhelpful. His fingers were slick with blood. 

Kavinsky reached into the waistband of his jeans, and pulled out a shiny chrome gun. Ronan wondered how long it had been there, wondered how he hadn’t noticed it. The idea of him carrying a gun casually was something he’d never considered. He hated the implications of it. He wondered, turning the horror of it over in his mind, if Kavinsky ever took it to class. If he’d ever really killed someone with it. 

Kazinsky shot the night horror three times in the side, and it screamed, slumping over gracelessly, bleeding greasy black all over the ground. 

It was dead. 

Ronan felt a sick kind of relief, and tried to sit up. He didn’t even make it up halfway on his side, but the effort made him dizzy. He felt sluggish, his limbs shot through with pins and needles. Kavinsky had tucked the gun back in his jeans, and was standing over the night horror now. He kicked one of its strange feathery limbs, and his lip curled in disgust. 

“This is one ugly fucker. You’d let it kill you?” He wasn’t paying any attention to Ronan, to the fact that he hadn’t moved but when Ronan didn’t reply K looked over his shoulder, annoyed. It was only then that his gaze snagged on Ronan’s bloody fingers, and he let out a low whistle. “Frozen and that thing got a bite out of you. Sucks, man.”  

Ronan scowled. He was afraid that if he tried to talk, his words would come out slurred. The pain of his wound was beginning to set in, an ebbing ache like a pulse. It was bleeding slower, but it was still bleeding. He’d stained the couch cushion red. He tried to sit up again, and K watched him struggle against the numbness in his limbs. It was finally starting to thaw, but certainly not enough that he had free range of motion. 

His voice came out raspy and strange, tired from sleep and blood loss: “I got you what you wanted. Delete the pictures.” 

Kazinsky rolled his eyes, dissatisfied, but pulled his phone out of a pocket from his jacket. The screen was badly cracked. He tossed it to Ronan. “Do it yourself, ease your mind.” 

Ronan almost missed it, and scrambled to keep from dropping the phone. His head hurt all of a sudden. “Passcode?” 

Kazinsky relayed it to him lazy, uncaring. Ronan typed it in, and went straight to the photos app, deleting every picture of his friends and further back in K’s camera roll, pictures himself. He made sure there was no way for them to be recovered before he set the phone down, an invitation for Kavinsky to claim it. 

He felt sick with relief. He’d done what he came here for. He’d managed to protect his friends, and even if he was bleeding all over the place, it still felt worth it. 

Kavinsky strolled over to him, and retrieved his phone. He held out his hand to Ronan, offering to help him up. “Come on Lynch, we don’t have all night. That body isn’t going to move itself.” 

Ronan didn’t want to, but he didn’t think he’d be able to stand without being pulled. He took Kavinsky’s hand- palm against sweaty palm, and allowed the other young man to pull him swaying to his feet. 

Ronan didn’t say thank you, just let go and wiped his palms on his jeans. It didn’t do much, because he’d already gotten blood on them. He felt light headed and queasy, but at least he was standing. It took a fair amount of concentration to keep himself steady as he walked over to the body. He could smell the terrible carrion scent of the thing. He didn’t want to touch it. 

Ronan clenched his jaw and pretended his head didn’t hurt, pretended his arm wasn’t still bleeding.“Let’s just get this over with.” 

Together, Kavinsky and Ronan pulled the thing back across the lot. Kavinsky stuffed it in his trunk, and when Ronan asked what he planned to do with it, he only smiled. 

A part of Ronan thought it was better not to know. 

Ronan wanted to leave, but he still felt like shit. Both his hands were covered in his own blood, and he smelled like it- the sharp tang of iron. He couldn’t go home like this. So instead, he sat on the shitty outdoor couch where he’d started off this part of the evening. 

Kavinsky came back from his car, and sat down next to him. He leaned over to look at Ronan’s arm. His face was strange, ghoulish in the light, and he touched the edge of the makeshift bandage Ronan had made from a strip of his tee-shirt. 

Ronan hissed at the sudden, sharp pain, and batted at Kavinsky’s hands. “Fuck off.” 

“Touchy,” K remarked. “You want something to drink?” 

_ Yes _ , Ronan thought. For once he couldn’t come up with a sufficient argument against it. He wanted to feel numb, wanted to forget the throbbing of his arm. He’d ripped a strip of his tee-shirt off, enough to wrap the wound, but it was no tourniquet. He hoped he wouldn’t need one. 

“Sure.” Ronan said tiredly. Kavinsky's expression remained impassive, but he got up for a moment and then returned with a plastic cup. Ronan was somehow surprised that K had made the drink for him, instead of passing the job off to one of his cronies. 

Kavinsky passed it over, and Ronan took a sip, the familiar burn of alcohol warm in his throat. Whatever liquor he was drinking, it had been mixed in with a sugary soda, so sweet it seemed to sting his tongue. 

It took him too long to realize why Kavinsky had made him the drink. 

He was being drugged. 

✕

Adam tried to go to sleep early, but was unable to drift off with the sounds of the party downstairs. He ended up lying on the floor of his bedroom, staring at the skylight in his ceiling, watching clouds roll across the night sky by moonlight. He didn’t want to think about Ronan, or the way he’d left again, or how it made him feel. 

He wanted to pretend that none of it had ever happened. 

And as always, things didn’t work out the way he wanted them to. 

An hour later, when Adam had moved from sulking to working on homework he didn’t need to do, someone knocked on the door to his room. 

“Adam?” It was Gansey, he opened the door just enough to peer inside at him, sitting at his desk. “Have you seen Ronan?” 

It was funny because this was what Adam had tried to ask Blue and Gansey earlier. 

“No,” Adam shook his head. “I haven’t seen him since around 11:45.” 

It was late now- nearly two in the morning. The music had stopped downstairs, and he’d listened as Henry and Blue shepherded guests out onto the sidewalk. No one had gotten trashed enough that they needed to stay on the couch, thankfully.  

Frowning, Gansey said. “That’s strange. No one else has seen him either.” 

“Maybe you should call him,” Adam offered. He could think of no other solution. Ronan was disappearing on him all over again, and he didn’t know how to help. If he didn’t want to be found, it wasn’t worth searching. 

“I’ll try.” Gansey told him, his lips curving into a small smile that failed to conceal his worry. Adam suddenly felt bad. He was sure Ronan was just hiding somewhere, unwilling to face his regrets, but Gansey didn’t know that. 

“I can do it,” Adam added. “Let’s just make some tea and call him, and then see what happens next.” 

Gansey didn’t move, but his demeanor changed somehow, like Adam offering to help took a weight off his shoulders. Distantly, Adam knew how long Gansey had tried to care for Ronan. They must have been friends when his parents died. Adam remembered the scars he felt on Ronan’s wrists, weeks ago now, and wondered if Gansey knew, too. 

He’d probably tried to stop Ronan from making them in the first place. 

 

Downstairs, Gansey made the tea which meant it would be undrinkable. Adam called Ronan while they waited for the water to boil, and he was startled to hear a loud, electronic ringtone playing from within one of the kitchen cabinets. 

It was Ronan’s phone. 

Adam knew before he even pulled it out of the cabinet, before he even clicked the home screen to reveal a photo of Chainsaw perched on the BMW. He wasn’t surprised that Ronan had left it behind, but he was surprised to find it in a cabinet. Wordlessly, Adam passed the phone over to Gansey. 

He looked concerned and serious, a wrinkle appearing between his brows. “Why would he leave his phone?” 

Adam shrugged, bitter with the reminder of him. “It’s Ronan. Why does he do anything?” 

Gansey gave him a curious look, and then tapped at the screen for a long moment, presumably scrolling through Ronan’s recent notifications on the home screen, or trying to guess his password. Suddenly, his expression shifted, his skin paling. 

“He’s with Kavinsky.” 

Adam’s stomach dropped. “What?” 

“He’s with Kavinsky,” Gansey repeated. “Kavinsky’s been… he’d been pestering him to come to some Halloween Party. Threatening him.” 

“And he went?” Adam felt sick all over again. Adam knew some of the history between Ronan and Kavinsky, how violent, how self destructive it had been. Adam had been mad at Ronan, but now he was  _ worried.  _

What could Kavinsky say that would make Ronan follow after him like a leashed dog? 

“Presumably,” Gansey replied. “He’s not here and the last time Kavinsky texted him it was to tell him when and where to come.” 

Adam gestured for Gansey to pass him the phone, and Gansey complied. Apparently, he’d been able to guess Ronan’s passcode correctly because Adam was reading through a one-way conversation between Ronan and Kavinsky. Other than the texts about the party,

half of the texts were derogatory and the other half seemed to reference things that Adam didn’t understand. 

“Are you worried about him?” Adam heard himself ask, eyes swimming over the letters on the screen. A week ago, Kavinsky had texted something nasty to Ronan involving his poor taste in men. Adam felt ill. 

Gansey sounded nervous. “Of course I am. We should go get him. I don’t trust Kavinsky.” He wasn’t wringing his hands, still somehow remained straight-backed and polite. His eyes were glassy though, and there was sweat on his forehead. His composure gave him easily away. 

Adam looked back at the most recent text. 

[434-837-1263 :] i _ x art park. midnight on halloween. bring something good.  _

✕

When Adam and Gansey left the house, Henry and Blue insisted they come along as well. All of them were anxious about Ronan, afraid of the worst. In the back seat of The Pig, Blue told Adam about how the last time they had to pick Ronan up from some function of Kavinsky’s, it had ended in a car crash where he nearly died. 

It was not a comforting story. 

Before, Adam had been heartsick. He was still sad that Ronan left him again, still angry at Ronan for breaking his trust, but the reality of those emotions had been swallowed up by worry. Worry like a noose around his neck, worry like an ache in his bones that he couldn’t shake. Adam couldn’t remember being this worried in years, not about anyone. Not about anything. 

There was nothing for him to do during the car ride to the art park. He picked at a fraying seam on the hem of his shirt, ill at ease in his seat. Adam tried to keep himself calm by counting the streetlights they passed, the number of people in costumes out in this hour. The streets were practically deserted. 

It wasn’t a long drive, and by the time they parked next to Ronan’s abandoned BMW, everyone was anxious to get out of the car, anxious to find Ronan. Henry popped the chair in the front seat so Blue and Adam could clamber out. Gansey was already striding off in the direction of a small group, and a white mitsubishi parked at the center of the concrete park. 

Adam had only ever been here in the summer, and in the daylight. He remembered it as the site of a farmer’s market Gansey took him to once, with stalls of people selling flowers and produce, handmade jewelry and candles. A truck selling tacos, a cart selling cupcakes. Tonight it was nearly unrecognizable, a bare concrete lot only populated by the skeletons of outdoor furniture and abandoned art installations. 

He followed Gansey, and it took nearly all of his self restraint not to run. He didn’t know why he wasn’t running. He wanted to find Ronan. He wanted to make sure he wasn’t hurt, that Kavinsky hadn’t done anything to him. He felt somehow like something had been taken from him. 

As they got closer he could make out the frames of students he barely recognized. One of them was sprawled across a picnic table, indolent and bored. He said nothing of their arrival, but heads turned. Adam saw Kavinsky’s face, still half covered by sunglasses even under the cover of night. 

Adam hated him, hated the smug smile that curved on his lips as he noticed the pair of them approaching. He felt like his insides were singed out and he hated that too, hated the anger rising inside him- a surprise gift from his father that he’d never fully managed to shake. 

Gansey crossed his arms, his voice cold and unwavering. “Where’s Ronan?” 

“Oh, the princess?” Kavinsky patted the couch cheerily. “He’s right here.”

Adam leaned forward to see Ronan. His stomach dropped at the sight of him. Ronan’s eyes were closed, his hands were soaked in blood. There was a bandage around one of his arms. 

Adam felt his hands shaking, heard the venom thick in his own voice. “What the hell did you do to him?” He’d never sounded like this in his life. Never been this angry, this afraid for the sake of someone else. No one he’d cared about had ever been in this kind of danger. 

“Hey, hey, hey,” Kavinsky held up his hands, mock innocent. “ _ I  _ didn’t do anything. He picked a fight with a big bird and we killed it together.” He was grinning, and Gansey’s brow wrinkled with sudden concern.

“Are you talking about one of his night horrors?” 

Adam wasn’t paying attention to Gansey. He leaned over to shake Ronan awake, watched as his eyes fluttered open glossy and blue. Something was wrong, but all Adam knew was he had to get Ronan out of there. Kavinsky said something back that Adam didn’t hear. He was too busy pulling Ronan up, trying to help him move. 

He kept his voice quiet. “Come on, Ronan.” 

Ronan’s eyes slid over him slowly. His voice was slurred “What’re you doing here?” 

“Taking you home.” Adam got one of Ronan’s arms around his shoulder, and his own arm around Ronan’s waist, carrying half his weight. They were a strange, four legged creature, and Kavinsky sneered at them. 

“That’s right, the hick is taking you back to your tower.” 

He felt a flare of unfamiliar, terrible rage. “Fuck you,” Adam hissed. 

Gansey said something back to Kavinsky, some chilly, detached reprimand but Adam was already walking away. 

He had Ronan, and that was the only thing he cared about. 

✕

Adam drove the BMW for the first time, Ronan in the passenger seat. They didn’t talk the whole way home. 

Adam practically had to carry Ronan inside and up the stairs to his bedroom, supporting most of his weight. He’d never been in Ronan’s room before- had no idea what to expect. Chainsaw cawed loudly when the door creaked open. She was in a nest of torn up papers on a desk pushed against the far wall. 

Kicking a pair of dirty jeans out of the way, Adam settled Ronan on the unmade bed. His sheets were dark, his floor was cluttered with random objects. Mud-caked shoes. Unused textbooks. A potted plant in the windowsill, spilling its leaves onto Ronan’s pillowcase. Adam’s chest hurt. No one was really allowed in Ronan’s room and even now, he felt like an intruder. 

There was no way he was leaving Ronan alone, though. Not when he was like this. 

He went to get a wet washcloth from the bathroom and texted the others that they made it back safe, that he was taking care of Ronan. He came back with the washcloth to sit down on the bed next to Ronan. He took his hand and started to wipe the blood off it, careful, perfunctory. Now that they were alone together, now that Ronan was safe, it was hard for Adam not to feel betrayed. 

Ronan was watching him, the quality of his eyes strange, his pupils huge. He frowned at him. 

“Adam…” His voice was rough, like he’d just woke up, or he’d been screaming. Ronan touched his fingertips gently, carefully exploring. 

“What happened?” Adam asked, still trying to get the blood off of Ronan’s fingers. 

“I think Kavinsky drugged me,” Ronan said. “Gave me a drink and━ Fuck.” Ronan winced, and covered one of eyes with a bloody hand. Adam had accidentally touched the edge of his bandage. “I don’t know. Can’t think” 

“Should you go to sleep?” Adam asked. It was a struggle to keep his voice even, a struggle not to ask more questions, like the most pressing one on his mind:  _ why did you leave again?  _ But if Ronan had been drugged, it wasn’t fair for him to ask questions. 

Ronan shrugged. “Don’t think I could stay awake if I tried.” 

“I’m going to get you water,” Adam decided. “And you should change, if you can. Get out of the bloody clothing.” 

He didn’t want to leave long enough to go all the way downstairs, so he just snagged an empty glass on a bookcase overflowing with paperback fantasy novels, records and an expensive looking stereo system. He filled it in the bathroom sink, and came back to find Ronan under the covers of the bed. Adam could only see his arms and his shoulders with the way he had the covers pulled up, but it was enough to see that he wasn’t wearing a shirt. 

Despite himself, despite everything, Adam felt his ears getting warmer. 

He ignored it, and set the glass down on Ronan’s bedside table. Ronan’s eyes followed his every movement, unashamedly staring. 

“I’m gonna keep an eye on you, okay?” Adam sat down on the half of Ronan’s bed that Ronan wasn’t occupying, and scooted up so he was sitting with his back against the wall. “I want to make sure you’re okay.”

Ronan reached for his palm, flat in the middle of the bed, and Adam couldn’t bring himself to pull away as Ronan traced the lines on his palm. He said: “I need to tell you something. A secret.” 

Something twisted in his chest, and Adam whispered: “Tell me tomorrow.” 

 

Ronan fell asleep, and hours later, sometime near dawn━  Adam did too. He was still on Ronan’s bed, slumped out of his upright position. They ended up tangled close together and even later, Adam woke up. When he turned over to check on Ronan, there was something in his hand that hadn’t been there before. 

Rose petals littered with thorns.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay so i know it was a long wait but i busted my ass to get this chapter out AND it's double the length of a normal chapter so. hope you guys like it lol!!! probably never gonna write a 12k chap again but i wanted to not leave you all on an angsty cliffhanger. so enjoy your double chapter!! 
> 
> i had a super busy holiday season and i had a SUPER big writing slump which i appear to be crawling out of... but yeah i've got a lot of stuff going on in my life rn so you know.. pressure as always. slow update speeds as always. hope you guys appreciate this chapter anyways because i've been working SO hard on it and planning it for so long. (first idea for this chapter was april 2017)
> 
> thank you to the wonderful people who have left me asks on tumblr, and my writing friends who always support me (hint hint, seekthemist and burn-it-slow. you guys are amazing!) thank you to neveronceintoit and thewarlocksbitch on tumblr for both beta'ing this chapter and working with me and being general goddesses. i love them both so much!!! thank you to vero apple for always listening to me when i update on how much i've written, and for always being proud of me even if it's only 100 words. you make my days brighter <3
> 
> thank you guys so, so much for your patience and your lovely comments last time! it really, really motivates me to write more and makes me feel like my work is actually good/making an impact when people leave comments. i'd appreciate so much it if you guys left comments/reviews this time just bc.... it makes my life!!!
> 
> again thank you all for your patience!! hope you enjoyed the chapter :-) please leave a comment to make an author happy!!


	12. i'll give it up to you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the one where adam and ronan take a field trip.

_ Night time _

_ Sympathize _

_ I've been working on _

_ White lies _

_ So I'll tell the truth _

_ I'll give it up to you _

━ Night Time, The XX

For a few long moments, Adam stared at the thorns and flowers clutched between Ronan’s fingers. Carefully, gently, he pried a red petal out of Ronan’s grasp and slid it between his fingertips. Ronan’s hand twitched in his sleep and Adam watched his face, early morning light filtering in through the shades, striping his skin golden in the blue darkness of the room. 

Something inside him hurt. The petals in Ronan’s hand were identical to the ones Adam had found in his bedroom, all those months ago. Here with Ronan, again, they had appeared out of nowhere in his fingertips. It meant that Ronan had to have left them somehow, back when they first met. Adam had been puzzling over this mystery on and off for months, and now the answers were directly in his grasp. 

He just had to wake Ronan up. 

Adam touched his shoulder, his fingertips pressed against the dark ink of Ronan’s tattoo, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to shake him awake. Ronan stirred in his sleep, let out a heavy sigh. Adam needed to talk to him, but he knew he should let Ronan sleep. He’d been drugged last night, and his body probably needed as much time to recover as it could get. 

Reluctantly, Adam untangled himself from the mess of Ronan’s blankets, and crawled off the bed to go downstairs. He needed a glass of water and something to eat- his stomach was already growling. 

The house was quiet this early on a Saturday morning. Adam was unsurprised. After the party and Ronan’s terrible disappearance, it made sense that they were all drained. On his way to the kitchen, he saw Henry’s door cracked, and Henry asleep in a pile of pillows and comforters, his mouth open. He still had glitter on his face from his costume. 

Adam shut Henry’s door quietly, and continued on to the kitchen. It was empty, but there was evidence that someone else had already come in- either for a snack late last night, or an early breakfast. Toast crumbs littered the counter, and Adam sighed. No one ever remembered to clean up around here. 

He dug around the pantry until he found cereal that wasn’t stale, and he snagged a water bottle to fill for Ronan. He wasn’t very familiar with hangovers- he didn’t even know if Ronan would have a hangover after what Kavinsky gave him. He figured that Ronan might not be feeling his best, though, and despite the questions he had making sure Ronan was alright came as first priority. 

He was still angry with Ronan. Or not quite angry, but hurt. He knew Ronan left the party last night for a reason, but he didn’t understand why Ronan didn’t tell him. Why there were thorns and flowers in his hands this morning. Why he left that first night, why he kissed him if he was apparently keeping so many secrets. 

Adam ate quickly and quietly, in an effort not to wake up anyone else in the house. It was still earlier than any of them would be stirring on a normal day, the quality of the light streaming through the blinds clear and bright the way it could only be at dawn. He cleaned up his bowl from his cereal, wiped the toast crumbs into the garbage, and slipped out the kitchen door. The neck of the water bottle was cold and slippery in his fingers.

Upstairs, he ducked into the bathroom to look for aspirin before continuing on to Ronan’s room. He entered and shut the door behind him quietly. In bed, Ronan had shifted positions in his sleep, somehow scattering the flower petals across the sheets. He was curled facing towards where Adam had been sitting, before he fell asleep on top of Ronan’s comforter. 

Adam set the water bottle down on  the bedside table, and carefully shook out a pair of painkillers.  _ I should leave _ , he thought. He’d already spent the evening watching over Ronan, making sure he didn’t wake up feverish or vomiting in the middle of the night. Probably he had already stayed too long, but he couldn’t bear the idea of leaving again; Ronan waking up and pretending that nothing had happened last night, that no thorns had miraculously appeared clutched in his fist overnight. 

He sat down on the foot of the bed, careful not to disturb Ronan, and scooted back into his position leaning against the wall. He pretended to read on his phone, but he couldn’t keep himself from studying Ronan. In sleep, he looked younger. His expression was uncomplicated, his eyebrows smooth for once instead of sharply animated in an expression of disdain or mocking joy. Adam was somehow struck by the vulnerability of Ronan in his sleep, the intimacy of his closeness, and his ears went hot. 

Adam went back to pretending to read, but this time he stole a book off of Ronan’s floor:  _ Over Nine Wave _ s. It was a book of Irish legends, the spine cracked, the pages warped by time. Immediately, he was interested in both the familiarity of the object and the subject matter. As he turned the pages, he wondered how many times Ronan had read it. 

He made it through a story about a woman who got turned into a dragonfly, and a tale of a great war before Ronan stirred next to him in the sheets. Adam glanced up from the book. Ronan blinked at him tiredly, the pillow crushed against half his face. 

“What’re you doing here?” He reached out for Adam’s wrist, as if to test the reality of him, and Adam set down the book. 

“I stayed to make sure you didn’t choke on your own vomit,” Adam said- and it came out pricklier than he meant it to. Ronan’s question had stabbed at him, the implication that he shouldn’t be here- that he was invading Ronan’s space- had hurt. Maybe he was being unfair to Ronan, but Ronan had certainly been unfair to him. 

Ronan’s expression was hard to read but his voice was quieter than usual, all the sharp edges smoothed out. “Thanks, Parrish.” 

“It’s fine,” Adam said, surprised by Ronan’s earnestness.  Forgiveness already threatened to wear him down. “I just wanted to make sure you’re okay.” 

Ronan considered this for a long moment, glancing at the bandage on his wrist. It was colored rusty with dried blood.“I’m alive, aren’t I?” He looked like he was still exhausted, but he sat up anyway. The sheets pooled around his waist and Adam looked away- He’d forgotten that Ronan wasn’t wearing a shirt. He’d seen Ronan shirtless before, but the space between them felt tenuous. An inconvenient part of him thought back to last night, Ronan’s mouth on his, fingertips skimming the hem of his shirt. 

Adam blushed. 

“Barely,” He managed. “How did you even get that?” He gestured to Ronan’s wrist, thinking of the slick, bloody wound underneath. The way his hands had seemed stained red when he tried to carry him out. 

Grimacing, Ronan told him: “It’s kind of a long story.” 

Adam had been expecting a non-answer like this, but it still bothered him. He thought, with a terrible jolt, that Ronan knew more about him than he knew about Ronan. It was an uncomfortable realization that settled as a weight in the pit of his stomach. He turned away just barely, enough that Ronan couldn’t see his face as he tried to collect himself. 

Gently, Adam collected the flower petals that Ronan had strewn across the sheets in his sleep. The stupid, tiny thorns. He turned back and opened his fist, so Ronan could see them clearly. “And what about these?” Ronan’s expression became complicated, and he reached for the petals, but Adam snatched his hand back. “What are they, Ronan?” 

“Where did you get those?” Ronan’s voice was low, his eyes dark in the dim light of the bedroom. 

Adam felt, suddenly, like there was a bird trapped in his rib cage, fighting anxiously to get out. “They’re yours. You made them somehow, the flowers-” He thought of the roses in his dorm room, under his pillow, crammed between the matress and the wall. “They were in your hands when I woke up.” 

Ronan cursed. 

“Adam— shit, I was meaning to tell you,” His hands were clenched tight in the sheets, palpable anxiety rolling off him in waves. The dark lines of his tattoo were sharp against his tense shoulders. “I was going to tell you.” 

“Tell me what?” Adam asked. His insides felt like they were trying to shred themselves apart. Part of him already knew what Ronan was going to say before he even said it, like he’d known there was something different, something  _ other  _ about him the entire time. 

Ronan let out a deep breath, closed his eyes for an instant, and told him: “I can take things out of my dreams.” 

Adam knew Ronan was special, knew he was wrapped in something like magic, certainly something like a mystery- but he didn’t know how to process this. He turned it over in his mind, the impossibility of what Ronan told him. The impossibility of the flowers, now and then. Every moment Ronan had seemed cagey, every time Adam found something inexplicable and explained it away to himself in his mind. 

Of course Ronan was something else.  _ Of course _ . 

Adam at once felt foolish for not noticing it himself, and disappointed that Ronan hadn’t told him earlier. Hurt that Ronan hadn’t trusted him enough to explain the truth. It was as if someone had slipped a chip of broken glass under his tongue under the guise of an ice cube, and cut the inside of his mouth terribly. 

A fearful, selfish part of him wished that he wasn’t so vulnerable to Ronan. Wished that he was someone distant and unknowable. He had only a few secrets left, like emotional bartering chips, and he suddenly had a strong desire to hold them close. How was he even supposed to believe this? It was too absurd to be true, too unimaginable to be false. How would Ronan make up something like this? 

Adam crushed the flower petals tight in his fist, felt the damp, living quality to them. Real. They were somehow undeniably real in the palm of his hand. 

“How?” Adam asked, and his mind was already racing ahead of him, wondering what else Ronan could dream. Whether it was all plant life, or meaningless trinkets, or clothes or food or money. 

Ronan made a face. “Tell me when you find out, Parrish.” 

Adam was scrutinizing the now-wrinkled petals for signs of forgery, but he looked up, disbelieving. “You don’t know how?” 

“I mean, I know how to take something out,” Ronan worried at a scab on his knuckle. “But I don’t know how it works. The magic, or whatever.” 

_ Magic. _ Adam thought. What a strange word to throw around in an everyday conversation. How far away they suddenly were from being ordinary.  

“Are you screwing with me right now?” 

Adam knew Ronan didn’t lie, and prided himself on his personal code of honesty  but he couldn’t suspend his disbelief, not entirely. He’d known Ronan for months now, and he’d known there was something different about him but he couldn’t have fathomed this as an answer to all his questions. 

Who was Ronan, if he was telling the truth? 

Ronan crossed his arms, at once defensive and vulnerable. 

“Why would I fucking lie to you?”

_ Because you don’t really want me _ . Adam thought, but it was illogical and he knew it. Ronan had kissed him first yesterday. Ronan’s eyes had lingered when he crossed the room and he’d seen it. Ronan touched him like he meant it, like Adam was something worth holding. Like he was the one who was magic. 

“I don’t know,” Adam admitted. “Why would you leave after kissing me, Ronan?” 

They hadn’t talked about it yet. Last night it hadn’t been the most important thing, and it wasn’t really now- but Adam remembered the sharp sting of it when he’d thought Ronan decided he wasn’t enough all over again. 

Ronan looked away- ashamed, or angry, or hurt. It was hard to tell, but his shoulders tensed and his knuckles went white from how hard he was gripping the sheets. “That’s not fair and you know it.” 

“You didn’t have to disappear,” Adam shot back. “You could have told me.” 

“Yeah,” Ronan replied, sarcastic. “‘cause telling you I’m being blackmailed and leaving with a kiss on the cheek would go over so well.” 

“What did he even have on you? What mattered that much?” Adam had looked at Ronan’s texts with Gansey, when they were trying to figure out where he’d gone- but none of it had seemed more than vaguely threatening. None of it seemed to count as blackmail. 

Ronan’s jaw set. “He was going to tell you I could dream things.” He hesitated for a moment, his eyes cold. “And he had pictures. Of you, and Gansey, and Blue. He was going to send them to the dean.” 

“What kinds of pictures?” Adam asked, cagey. 

Ronan shook his head. “Bad ones he dreamt up. That rat bastard was going to get you all expelled.”  

The word “expelled” was enough to make Adam short-circuit for an instant, imagining everything he’d worked for slipping through his fingers and falling to dust. His pulse suddenly felt thick, and too fast in his veins. 

“What happened to them?”

“Deleted.” Ronan replied. Adam was relieved, and suddenly grateful. It wasn’t until a long moment had passed until he thought of the implication of what Ronan had said. 

“Kavinsky can do this too?” 

“Unfortunately.” Ronan scowled. His eyes looked like chips of ice in the darkness of the bedroom. 

“Who else-”

Ronan shook his head again. “I’ve never met anyone else who can do it. Except my Dad.” 

_ So it’s genetic _ , Adam thought. He wanted to know, desperately, how it truly worked. To understand Ronan better, to prove to himself that it was real. He wanted to see more than just the flowers and thorns in his hands. He wanted to watch Ronan wake up with a miracle. 

“I wish you’d told me.” 

Ronan looked uncomfortable at this. “There are parts of it I didn’t want you to know about.” He touched the edge of the bandage on his wrist, gently, almost unconsciously. 

Adam could understand that. There were parts of himself that he didn’t want Ronan to know about, either. Parts he hadn’t shared with anyone, that he might never share at all. The bruises, the trailer park, the hospital visits he couldn’t pay for. They both had secrets, some bigger than others. 

“Thank you,” Adam said eventually. “For trusting me.” He wouldn’t admit it to Ronan, but he’d needed it from him. He’d needed  to hear the truth, even if this was far from the truth he’d been expecting. He felt strange and vulnerable in the low light, on Ronan’s bed, close enough that he could lean over and kiss him if he wanted. 

It felt too soon for Adam to kiss him again. 

Ronan shrugged, and in the movement their shoulders brushed. He said: “Actually, there’s a place I want to take you.” 

 

✕

They left early, and, to Adam’s dislike, without a note. Ronan promised him he would pick up the phone if anyone called, and promised that Gansey wouldn’t care about where they were going. He didn’t want to tell Adam yet, wanted to it to be a surprise. Part of it was because he was nervous. He drank two cups of coffee before they left. He was still exhausted from the night before, but this was more important. The caffeine made him jittery, and Adam’s closeness was a constant reminder of their kiss. There was no taking it back. 

In the BMW, he let Adam connect his phone to the stereo for once. 

He raised an eyebrow at Ronan when he passed him the cord, and Ronan grunted at him, waving his hand impassivley. 

“We could just listen to the murder squash song on repeat if that’s better.” 

“You’re such a shit,” Adam said, and plugged his phone in. The corner of his mouth twisted up, just barely. He put on a song by The Cranberries that Ronan didn’t totally hate, and then they left. 

Within fifteen minutes Adam had fallen asleep with his head resting against the seatbelt, as the red-orange-yellow of Virginia fall rushed past them outside the car. Ronan left the music playing. It was mostly songs he didn’t recognize- folk, or indie music from ten years ago, or the occasional classic rock song. He didn’t mind it. He didn’t mind that Adam was asleep, either. He knew he’d stayed up last night, later than even  Ronan, to make sure he was okay. 

Ronan didn’t know how to feel about it, but it made something shiver in him, the fact that Adam cared enough to look out for him. He tried not to think about it. 

 

The car was comfortably quiet as Ronan drove over the blue crests of the mountains, down into the shenandoah valley. There was only the croon of a singer’s voice and the downy softness of Adam’s breathing to keep him company. He stayed asleep for about half an hour while they were on the highway, past Staunton and Henrietta, past Harrisonburg and the swarm of college students at JMU. 

When they finally turned onto the country roads, Adam yawned, rubbing his eyes blearily. He sat up straighter in the passenger seat and glanced out the windows. The tar-painted fences of farms, the thick, empty patches of forest, barns and churches abandoned and overgrown. Probably, it was unfamiliar. 

“Welcome back to the land of the living,” Ronan said, sarcastic. 

Adam frowned at him, inquisitive. “How long was I asleep?” 

“ Thirty minutes.” Ronan told him, eyes trained on the winding path of the road. “Not too long.” 

“Where are we?” They could have been anywhere in rural Virginia, with the cows they passed and the white-washed houses with rusty pickup trucks parked in the front yard. Only it was lusher here, moss clinging to trees and rocks in the forest. If Ronan had rolled the window down, Adam would know the air tasted brighter than it did in Charlottesville. 

“Just past Singer’s Falls. We’re almost there.” 

_ I’m almost home _ , Ronan thought, and it thrilled inside him. He was bringing Adam to his home. 

✕

Adam watched Ronan in the driver's seat as he turned down a long, rambling gravel driveway. Around the vehicle, the trees were as vibrant as a watercolor painting. Between their trunks, he could see flashes of fields and distant, ramshackle buildings. He was so absorbed in trying to pick out the shapes of the buildings that he didn’t try to look at the farmhouse looming at the end of the road, not until Ronan skidded to a stop in a wide lot, making the gravel skitter everywhere. 

“Is this-” Adam started, and then stopped himself. Ronan looked tense in the driver's seat, his expression complicated. The music he’d put on earlier kept playing for a long moment, before Ronan flicked a button that muted Jeff Buckley halfway through a lyric. 

“C’mon, Parrish,” Ronan let out a breath and climbed out the car. Adam followed him, at once curious and hesitant. He knew that where they were had to be important to Ronan. And without being told, he knew it had to do with Ronan’s secret.

He could take things out of his dreams. 

The idea of it still felt hazy and unreal- far from the realm of Adam’s imagination. 

“Where are we?” Adam asked. He could guess, but he wanted to be right. 

“The Barns,” Ronan replied. He was loitering at the edge of the gravel lot, waiting for Adam. He toed anxiously at the ground with one of his thick-soled boots. “Where I grew up.” 

It made sense then. This was the farm, mentioned in passing between them in conversations over the previous months. Somehow Adam had been imagining something different. Less sprawling. More tethered in the fields of reality. Already, he could sense that this place was different. Different the same way Ronan was different. Different in the way that he began to recognize as magic. 

Adam kept his voice carefully measured: “And why take me here?” 

“It’s easier to explain if I show you.” 

Ronan turned, expectant, and Adam crossed the lot to meet him. For a long moment, they just stood together- eyes turned towards the green pastures of Ronan’s home, the eccentric combination of barns scattered throughout the property. Adam was close enough to Ronan that he could hear his breathing- one sharp inhale after another. It struck him then that this was something vulnerable for Ronan. It was another way of showing himself to Adam. 

Slow and intentional, Adam brushed his hand against Ronan’s. The heat of their palms together was comforting, simple in its tactile pleasure. 

“So show me,” Adam told him. 

 

Ronan took him to one of the taller, sturdier barns. Inside the air was close, almost humid despite the cool air outside. It smelled like hay, and the strange musty-sweet scent of living animals. It was, in fact, full of cows. They were all asleep, sprawled on their sides or curled halfway under themselves in a way that didn’t look comfortable. Ronan knelt in the hay next to one of the cows, reddish, with a white patch on it’s head almost the shape of a heart. He touched it carefully, his hand on its side, rising and falling with the slow breath of the sleeping animal. 

“They’re all asleep,” Adam said, puzzled, fishing for an explanation. 

“Yeah,” Ronan agreed, brushing his finger through the eyelashes of the cow. It was so far in sleep that it didn’t flinch, didn’t stir. 

_ How, _ Adam wanted to ask.  _ Why?  _

Instead he watched Ronan. Waited for him to explain in his own time. He sat down next to him in the hay, and stuck his palm just in front of the cow’s nose. There was, as he expected, a warm huff of breath from the sleeping creature. Adam withdrew his hand and looked at Ronan again, carefully, out of the corner of his vision even though, now, he could stare as much as he liked without pretense. 

Ronan was quieter than usual. “They’re my dad’s.” 

“The cows?” Adam asked, and Ronan nodded back. 

“He’s gone now so,” Ronan gestured vaguely at the cows, his movements jerky and tense. “It’s nap time for-fucking-ever.” 

Adam felt his own brow wrinkling, turning  the statement over in his mind to make sense of it. “He could do it too,” Adam remembered, hesitating to say the word-  _ dream.  _ “What you do.” 

“Yes.” 

Adam thought about it for a long moment, the implication of everything Ronan had said about his father, the cows, his own ability. “Are they asleep because of your dad?”

Ronan let out a long breath, averting his eyes from Adam’s gaze. “Bingo, Parrish.” 

He felt a jolt of nervous energy, but he was deeply curious. Trying for nonchalance, Adam pet the cow in its sleep. “Explain it to me.” Ronan was quiet for a long moment, and Adam added: “That’s what you brought me here for, right?” 

“It’s not all good things,” Ronan said, hesitant. “It’s complicated.”  

Adam prickled with annoyance. “I’m sure I can handle it.”

Ronan picked up on Adam’s impatience easily, and rolled his eyes. “Of course you can. I’m just saying, it’s not all fucking flowers.” 

Adam waited for him to elaborate, still petting the cow’s head, the dirt on its coat transfering to his palm and turning it orange-brown. 

“I have nightmares, too. It doesn’t matter what kind of dream I’m having. I can still bring things from it.” 

“Like?” Adam prompted, and Ronan tapped the bandage on his arm. Adam knew about the wound underneath- he had patched it up just last night. “You’re kidding me.” Adam said- the implication of Ronan’s gesture turning his blood cold. 

Ronan shrugged, apathetic, and Adam felt a surge of anger or worry rise in him. He didn’t know how Ronan could care so little. He didn’t know if this was normal for Ronan. Adam stood, suddenly overwhelmed.

Of course, there was nowhere to go. Just the tight walls of the barn, the musty hay at his feet. The space felt cramped, the air close and heavy with the smell of animal bodies and sweet feed.

“Hey,” Ronan followed Adam to his feet. “Don’t freak out on me.” 

“I’m not,” Adam lied

“You’re making a face.” Ronan said. After a pause he added. “It’s not every night. Not all the time.” 

Without looking at him, Adam asked: “Is that supposed to make me feel better?” 

“Yes.” Ronan replied, blunt and without guile. And, because Adam knew he didn’t lie, he let Ronan take his hand. 

✕

Ronan took Adam through a few other Barns. One was filled with dream junk, one with more sleeping animals -sheep, this time, with strange, shimmery woollen coats- and one that used to be his father’s work space. Adam was quietly inquisitive and they stayed out in the barns for a long while, sifting through dream-junk and trinkets found in hidden corners. 

It was hard to tell secrets, and Ronan was exhausted, but watching Adam walk through the fields like he already belonged there was more than enough to ease his mind. 

“Let’s go up to the house,” Ronan said, finally, and Adam looked up from a pair of boots with tiger lillies growing out the laces that he’d been examining. 

“If that’s what you want,” 

“I’m tired.” Ronan admitted. “It’s a long drive here.” It wasn’t really, but he was starting to feel the effects of tramping through the fields and answering questions that made him vulnerable. 

“Alright,” Adam said, patient as always. He stood, brushing the dust from his knees, and Ronan followed after. He wanted to take Adam’s hand, brush his thumb over the calluses on his fingertips. Instead, he took a few long strides to get ahead and gestured for Adam to follow. The path to the farmhouse was easy to navigate from any one of the barns on the property, but Ronan took a long, roundabout route that followed a trickling creek with tiny, purple dream flowers growing on the grassy bank. 

The air was warmer now, a November afternoon settling into a comfortable chill that made Ronan want to discard his jacket, just to feel the prickle of cold air on his arms. It was his favorite time of year— he associated it with the scent of bonfires and birthday cake, the sound of leaves crunching under his feet and crows calling in the sky above. He felt it deep in his bones- the familiarity of home. 

✕

Inside the house it was warm and bright, mid-day sunshine filtering in through the many windows of the brick-faced house. Inconspicuously, Adam watched as Ronan abandoned his jacket and shoes by the front door, the action so practiced he could almost see how many times Ronan had done it before. The coat rack was heavy with work-coats, Ronan’s slick leather jacket standing out in stark relief next to the oily, muddy sheen of waxed canvas. Adam followed Ronan’s lead, and shucked his sweater over his head, folding it carefully and placing it on a chair at the end of the front hall. 

“You hungry?” Ronan asked. He was already halfway down the hall, shoes off and shoulders relaxed, like his burdens were easier to bear by virtue of being here. 

Adam shrugged, and then yawned. “I could eat.” 

Ronan gave him a smirk. “Never one to turn down food, huh?” 

It was a well known fact that Adam was the garbage disposal of the group. If anyone else hadn’t finished their food, and it wasn’t completely demolished, Adam would finish it. He hated to let food go to waste, and his friends were partial to over-ordering. He couldn’t count the number of times he finished Henry or Gansey’s second bagel from Bodo’s that they just had to have because they were  _ so _ hungry. 

Cooly, Adam flipped Ronan the bird, and Ronan’s smile grew wider. 

“C’mon into the kitchen. You can help me find something edible.” 

Ronan ducked through a wide doorway, the door propped open with a small, ornate statue. Adam wondered if it was a dreamt thing or an antique- the kind that would populate the Gansey’s home he’d visited for a weekend last summer.  

Inside, the kitchen had wide windows to accommodate the warm noon sun spilling inside. It was an eclectic mix of older, snowy white appliances and brand-new ones- slick and metallic. The knobs on all the cupboards were mismatched glass. Clearly, it had only been updated as things broke and needed replacement. 

Ronan was rifling through the refrigerator, his back to Adam. He pulled out a milk container, sniffed it, and then his expression curdled. Wordlessly, he threw it into a garbage can under the sink. 

Adam had no clue where to start, and opened a cupboard. Inside was a set of cream colored china- dinner plates and salad plates, bowls and tea cups. Beside it, incongruously, there was a stack of home-made crockery with haphazard paint smears across each item. They looked like things a child would make, and Adam felt strange all of a sudden, this fact of Ronan’s childhood in front of him. 

It was hard to imagine that he was ever the kind of person who made colorful pottery. It was hard to imagine that he was ever a child, without the troubles or worries he carried on his shoulders today. 

Gently, Adam took one of the pieces from the cupboard- A bowl with young, messy shapes on it. He turned it in his hands, examining the whimsical smears of paint and glaze. 

“Wow, Parrish. Found the embarrassing shit on the first try.” 

Adam startled and almost dropped the bowl- Ronan had come up on his deaf side. 

At the same time Adam said “Jesus,” in a surprised exhale, Ronan pointed at one of the blobs on the bowl and said: “That one’s supposed to be a cow.” 

“I couldn’t tell,” Adam replied. It was only Ronan, but he was always thrown when someone approached on his deaf side and caught him off guard. It turned all his nerves jagged, made him sick to his stomach. 

“You good, man?” Ronan noticed the shift in his demeanor easily, and put a hand on Adam’s shoulder. Warm, reassuring, comfortable. Like they’d done this a thousand times before. 

“Uh,” Adam’s mouth felt dry. “You came up on my deaf side.” 

He hadn’t told any of his friends he was deaf in one ear, because he didn’t want to explain how he’d lost his hearing. It was always the natural question that followed after, and he’d rather have them think he was spacey when he missed what they said than have to recount the piece of his past that stung the most. 

“Ha ha,” Ronan deadpanned, an eye roll conveying that he hadn’t taken Adam’s words to heart. “Seriously. You look spooked.”

Adam stepped back, somehow hurt by Ronan’s disbelief, and Ronan’s hand slipped off his shoulder. “I was being serious.” 

At this, Ronan’s expression shifted: surprised, to complicated and sober. “Fuck,” He picked at his wristbands. “You never told me.” 

Adam shrugged uncomfortably. He felt embarrassed and strange, to have finally admitted it. he didn’t know what he expected from Ronan, didn’t know what he wanted in that moment. 

“Which ear?” Ronan asked quietly, and Adam gestured to his left.

Ronan reached, gently, to touch the shell of Adam’s ear, and though he could see it, could feel it- the warmth of Ronan, the texture of his fingertips- he couldn’t hear Ronan’s movement. It would never stop being strange, that feeling. Like he was underwater, a thousand miles away from his body and the sensation of being touched. Adam closed his eyes for an instant, let out a shaky breath. Ronan’s fingers were in his hair now and he couldn’t hear that either. 

“I probably should’ve told you.” 

“You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to tell me.” Ronan said. His palm was warm against the skin of his neck, and Adam wanted to lean into that feeling. Wanted to be swallowed whole by it. 

“I know.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> haha.... haha... longest gap between chapters yet i'm so sorry. i'm pretty busy with pre-college stuff and prepping a portfolio for art school applications, so i haven't had a ton of time to focus on writing! i've also had some family issues to deal with that's made it hard to focus on this project. 
> 
> i know this was a super long wait, but hopefully it'll be worth it. i've already got a little bit of the next chapter started, and hopefully it wont be as long of a wait until i post 13- but i'm not making any promises. i'm going to have a really busy fall and don't know how much time i'll have for writing. 
> 
> thank you to everyone who's been so supportive and patient and wonderful to me despite this <3 i'm sure some of you were starting to think i'd given up. more thank yous to seekthemist, thewarlocksbitch, and neveronceintoit on tumblr who all helped me out with bits and pieces on this chapter. it wouldn't be here without you guys! your constant support makes it that much easier for me to push on with this project, even when i'm losing steam. 
> 
> lots of love to the people who have left me comments here and asks on tumblr- it really makes my day and motivates me to work more when i have a ton going on. i'd super appreciate it if people left comments on this chap as well because it really means a lot to me as an author and it makes it feel like i'm writing this story for more than just myself. (and, to be honest, if it was just for myself i'd probably have given up by now) anyways, thanks for the endless support from everyone!!! hopefully i'll be back soon <3 
> 
> shouts out to nicki/gansaey on tumblr for always being there for me and always being excited to read my work.. you're my fucking cheerleader and i love you.

**Author's Note:**

> all characters belong to maggie stiefvater. the title of this fic came from above the clouds of pompeii by bear's den (which has 0 relevance to the fic LMAO) flowers slipping from your hands was supposed to be a one shot, but the exposition got too long so it's turning into a freeform multi chapter fic. if you want to find me and talk about it on tumblr i'm @admlynch


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